T 


lu, 


I  tfi. 


His  BROKEN  SWORD 


BY 


WINNIE   LOUISE  TAYLOR 


CHICAGO 

A.   C.   McCLURG  AND    COMPANY 
1888 


COPYRIGHT, 
Bv  W.  L.  TAYLOR, 

A.D.    l888. 


TO    THE 
REVEREND  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 


Does  every  writer  find  that  his  work  is  woven  of  many 
friendships,  —  of  the  blended  influence  of  other  lives  upon 
his  own  ? 

I  can  never  estimate  how  much  of  all  that  led  to  the 
existence  of  this  book  is  owing  to  you,  dear  friend,  so 
unfailing  was  the  inspiration  of  your  sympathy  and  en- 
couragement through  the  years  from  which  these  pages 
were  gathered. 

February,  1888. 


1782180 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    A  LAKESIDE  INTERIOR 9 

II.    WAS  IT  NEMESIS  ? 17 

III.  GERMANY  LENDS  A  HAND 23 

IV.  PRUNING-HOOKS  TURNED  INTO  SPEARS    .    .  29 
V.    A  LAST  WALTZ 33 

VI.  STAR-SPANGLED  BANNER,  AND  BONNIE  BLUE 

FLAG 38 

VII.    WIDENING  VISTAS 42 

VIII.  "WILL  YOU  WALK  INTO  MY  PARLOR?"  .    .  47 

IX.    AN  INVOLUNTARY  INCENDIARY 56 

X.     PURSUIT 62 

XI.     UNREST 68 

XII.  OVER  THE  WAVES  AND  FAR  AWAY    ...  72 

XIII.  A  TRANSPLANTED  BOSTONIAN 79 

XIV.  DIVERSIONS 85 

XV.     ANOTHER  WALTZ 91 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVI.  CUPID  IN  A  CEMETERY 103 

XVII.  HALCYON  DAYS 114 

XVIII.  A  SIGN  OF  THE  TIMES 126 

XIX.  HIDDEN  SPRINGS 133 

XX.  AN  OPEN  ENEMY 137 

XXI.  AN  INTERLUDE 142 

XXII.  "A  MOMENT  OF  ETERNITY"     ....  146 

XXIII.  A  LAWYER'S  OPINION 153 

XXIV.  WOMAN'S  WEAKNESS 162 

XXV.  WOMAN'S  STRENGTH 166 

XXVI.  CROSS-PURPOSES 171 

XXVII.  CONSERVATIVE  AND  RADICAL    ....  175 

XXVIII.  THE  LAWSUIT  ENDED 182 

XXIX.  THE  HAREBELL  CLINGS  TO  THE  ROCK    .  188 

XXX.  A  LOVE-KNOT 195 

XXXI.  ON  THE  HEIGHTS 204 

XXXII.  A  PARTING 212 

XXXIII.  IN  THE  DEPTHS 218 

XXXIV.  THE  PHOTOGRAPH 225 

XXXV.  A  SHARP  CONTRAST 230 

XXXVI.  A  SILENT  STORM 236 

XXXVII.  TAKING  A  RISK 243 

XXXVIII.  THE  KEY-NOTE  CHANGES 247 

XXXIX.  THE  ANSWER  TO  A  FAREWELL      .     .    .  252 


CONTENTS.  Vli 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XL.  A  GLIMPSE  OF  HAPPINESS 257 

XLI.  AN  ADVOCATE  OF  HANGING 262 

XLII.  MEN  AND  BROTHERS 269 

XLI  1 1.  MR.  AND  MRS.  SMITH 280 

XLIV.  THE  FATE  OF  WILLIE  NORTH     ....  285 

XLV.  ONE,  OR  MANY? 291 

XLVI.  A  LAST  EVENING 297 

XLVII.  THE  CIRCLE  WIDENS 301 

XLVIII.  A  MISTAKEN  VOCATION 309 

XLIX.  RELEASED 315 

L.  ROWING  AGAINST  THE  TIDE 319 

LI.  SUBSTITUTION 324 

LI  I.  CUPID  TRIES  A  VIOLIN 335 

LIII.  KATHARINE  TAKES  UP  THE  GAUNTLET      .  341 

LIV.  IN  PORT 348 


HIS    BROKEN    SWORD. 


CHAPTER   I. 

A  LAKESIDE   INTERIOR. 

HXTREMES  met  in  the  marriage  of  Dr.  and 
Mrs.  .Kennard ;  they  met  and  united,  although 
indignant  relatives  placed  the  Atlantic  Ocean 
between  them  for  a  year  before  the  union. 
The  Doctor  was  a  Maine  man,  a  typical  New  Englander ; 
Mrs.  Kennard,  though  reared  by  relatives  in  Maryland,  had 
early  been  left  an  orphan  in  her  native  city  of  New  Orleans  : 
he  had  no  fortune  beyond  the  equipment  furnished  by  char- 
acter, intelligence,  and  education ;  she  had  inherited  beauty 
and  wealth,  with  a  background  of  ancestral  luxury. 

But  the  Doctor  established  a  prosperous  medical  prac- 
tice in  the  picturesque  Western  town  of  Milwaukee,  and 
ten  years  of  wedded  life  had  justified  his  wife  in  the  roman- 
tic experiment  of  marrying  for  love.  On  one  of  the  heights 
commanding  a  view  of  Lake  Michigan  and  the  beautiful 
southeastern  curve  of  Milwaukee  Bay  stood  their  home, 
a  low,  irregular  stone  building,  modelled  after  the  Southern 
home  of  Mrs.  Kennard's  girlhood. 


10  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

The  roof  and  heavy  cornice  of  dark-red  brown  were  in 
rich  contrast  with  the  creamy  yellow  of  the  stone ;  a  Vir- 
ginia-creeper threw  out  its  moss-like  fibres  and  fearlessly 
clasped  the  rough  stone,  twining  itself  into  a  frame  around 
the  lower  windows,  and  throwing  upward  delicate  sprays  of 
foliage  that  were  tender  green  in  May,  but  flamed  into 
crimson  and  orange  in  October.  The  front  door  and  win- 
dows opened  upon  a  broad  piazza,  overlooking  the  vast 
plain  of  the  ever-changing  lake,  where  often  at  twilight 
water  melted  into  sky,  and  distant  ships  sailed  away  into 
paradise.  From  the  sunny  south-side  dining-room  was 
thrown  a  conservatory;  there  flourished  the  enormous 
ferns  and  tropical  plants  that  were  Mrs.  Kennard's  pet  ex- 
travagance. This  passion  for  flowers  was  evident  in  every 
room.  At  the  end  of  the  hall  dividing  the  main  interior 
of  the  lower  story,  a  large,  jug- like  piece  of  pottery  on  a 
standard  always  held  the  most  brilliantly  colored  flowers 
that  garden  or  conservatory  could  supply.  Mrs.  Kennard 
liked  high  colors  in  shadow. 

The  tall  vases  on  either  side  of  the  library  grate  were 
filled  in  spring-time  with  blossoming  branches.  The 
snowy  clusters  of  dogwood  and  black-hawes  were  great 
favorites;  they  were  followed  in  summer  by  ferns,  vines, 
grasses,  and  other  cool  and  shadowy  looking  growths  cap- 
tured from  the  woods  near  by.  Later  came  the  golden-rod 
and  purple  asters,  and  boughs  of  maple  in  vivid  autumn 
tints.  This  six-sided  library  was  a  favorite  room  with  Mrs. 
Kennard.  She  liked  its  soft  gray  tints  .and  shades  of 
crimson,  that  looked  warm  in  winter,  and  cool  when  the 
light  was  subdued  in  summer.  Here  were  kept  a  few 
treasured  pieces  of  furniture  which  had  belonged  to  her 
father  and  mother  during  their  brief  wedded  life.  There 
was  a  large,  old-fashioned  sofa  of  crimson  plush,  in  a  frame 
of  iron  painted  to  represent  dark  wood ;  the  supports  of  the 


A   LAKESIDE  INTERIOR.  II 

arms  moulded  into  a  scroll  of  leaves  that  terminated  in  a 
woman's  face  in  high  relief.  In  her  girlhood  Mrs.  Kennard 
had  been  told  that  if  only  those  two  stern  faces  could  open 
their  iron  lips  they  might  unfold  most  interesting  chapters 
of  romance ;  for  this  sofa  had  been  a  sort  of  Lovers'  Retreat 
for  more  than  one  generation  of  Bentons.  To  Mrs.  Ken- 
nard it  was  not  only  a  lifeless  article  of  furniture,  it  had 
assumed  the  character  of  an  old  family  friend  and  confi- 
dant, —  one  that  sacredly  held  all  secrets  reposed  in  its 
keeping. 

Not  far  from  this  silent  witness  of  sentiment  stood  an 
antique  mahogany  secretaire,  along  whose  shelves  were 
ranged  the  books  that  had  belonged  to  Mrs.  Kennard's 
father,  selections  from  the  English  and  French  classics 
so  dear  to  cultivated  Southerners,  with  a  few  translations 
from  the  Latin  and  Greek. 

Dr.  Kennard  had  his  own  case  of  representative  Ameri- 
can authors,  —  the  collection  of  books  increasing  as  new 
volumes  were  issued  by  the  writers.  The  literature  of  New 
England  seemed  especially  related  to  himself  in  the  mind 
of  the  Doctor,  —  a  sense  of  ownership  shared  by  New 
Englanders  generally. 

While  abroad,  Mrs.  Kennard  had  developed  a  penchant 
for  Madonnas;  and  turn  where  you  would  in  the  library, 
some  gentle-eyed  Holy  Mother  looked  down  upon  you. 
The  Madonna  della  Sedia,  with  Mother  and  Child  so  ex- 
pressive of  solid  human  comfort  in  each  other's  affection, 
was  especially  liked  by  the  presiding  genius,  whose  home 
was  in  most  respects  a  reflection  of  her  own  tastes  and 
disposition. 

Mrs.  Kennard  was  not  an  intellectual  woman;  original 
ideas  and  independent  mental  conclusions  were  outside  of 
her  sphere.  Few  persons  suspected  this,  so  well  selected 
were  her  adopted  ideas ;  and  she  acted  upon  her  second- 


12  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

hand  conclusions  with  individual  independence.  Well- 
educated  and  sympathetic,  she  lived  mainly  in  her  tastes 
and  feelings;  she  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  turn- 
ing away  from  her  flowers,  music,  and  family  cares  to 
open  a  lead  mine,  as  to  seek  her  own  solutions  of  the 
problems  of  existence.  Her  religion  was  that  of  a  trusting 
heart,  —  by  no  means  an  objectionable  religion.  The  Epis- 
copal faith  in  which  she  was  reared  was  accepted  without 
question :  was  not  all  doubt  a  sin  ?  The  law  of  love  as- 
sumed pre-eminence  through  her  own  affectionate  nature 
and  became  her  own  standard  of  conduct ;  but  then,  the 
law  of  love  had  its  recognized  limitations,  drawn  theoreti- 
cally at  the  wilfully  wicked,  whoever  they  might  be  :  as  an 
eternal  punishment  was  prepared,  there  must  be  those 
deserving  it.  Class-lines,  distinctly  marked,  were  included 
in  her  theory  of  special  providential  arrangement.  Her 
own  happy  state  in  life  awakened  daily  gratitude  ;  but  then, 
had  she  not  always  tried  to  do  right,  and  was  it  not  natural 
that  the  good  Lord  should  make  existence  agreeable  to 
her? 

One  strong  and  unwavering  prejudice  she  cherished, — 
against  the  advocates  of  Woman's  Rights ;  they  shocked 
her  taste  and  her  sense  of  the  proper  relations  of  humanity, 
and  aroused  a  sort  of  pained  indignation.  Having  always 
done  exactly  as  she  pleased,  holding  her  property  in  com- 
plete independence,  possessing  at  once  all  of  woman's 
rights  in  addition  to  all  of  woman's  privileges,  this  wretched 
desire  to  have  the  existing  state  of  affairs  revolutionized, 
was  incomprehensible  to  her ;  she  could  not  conceive  what 
more  woman  could  want;  it  would  have  been  a  positive 
comfort  to  her  to  know  that  every  one  of  the  agitators  were 
within  the  walls  of  an  insane  asylum.  It  was  her  belief  that 
it  was  for  woman's  happiness  to  be  well  taken  care  of,  to 
be  lovable,  to  be  charming. 


A   LAKESIDE  INTERIOR.  13 

Charming,  beyond  all  question,  Mrs.  Kennard  certainly 
was.  Natural  tact,  a  perfect  manner,  and  genuine  kindness 
of  heart  blossomed  daily  in  beautiful  consideration  for 
others ;  and  her  serene  good-nature  turned  the  edge  of  the 
small  annoyances  inseparable  from  family  life.  She  gave 
a  winning  smile,  and  received  whatever  she  asked.  Her 
European  travel  had  developed  her  social  qualities,  polished 
her  natural  grace  of  manner,  and  furnished  a  fund  of  delight- 
ful reminiscence.  Sometimes  a  little  inaccurate  as  to  facts, 
her  impressions  were  always  vividly  retained  and  vividly 
reproduced,  with  a  broad,  artistic  treatment  that  made 
her  an  extremely  entertaining  talker.  Her  Southern  eyes 
saw  life  in  tropical  colors,  and  the  golden  light  of  her 
imagination  created  a  fascinating  medium  through  which 
the  listener  viewed  her  related  experiences. 

Dr.  Kennard  never  reasoned  about  his  wife ;  he  believed 
in  her  goodness,  her  constancy  and  loyalty,  as  he  believed 
in  Heaven.  That  the  love  and  the  companionship  of  this 
beautiful,  true-hearted  woman  were  a  part  of  his  own  life, 
never  ceased  to  be  marvellous  to  him.  Her  limitations 
amused  him  ;  when  they  came  directly  under  his  notice  he 
accepted  them  as  not  half  serious.  Intellectually  he  might 
have  missed  something  had  not  his  profession  so  taxed 
brain  and  nerve  that  repose  became  the  one  thing  to  be 
desired;  and  the  presence  of  his  wife  created  a  restful 
atmosphere  in  which  the  remembrance  of  care  was  lost. 

The  pictured  Madonnas  on  the  walls  of  Mrs.  Kennard's 
library  were  often  rivalled  by  the  living  picture  of  the 
mother  as  she  held  one  or  another  of  her  children  in  her 
arms. 

It  was  with  half-puzzled  wonder  that  Mrs.  Kennard  re- 
garded Katharine,  her  eldest  child,  —  Katharine,  with  her 
long  light  hair  and  limpid  hazel  eyes,  with  nose  inclin- 
ing to  the  piquant  angle,  and  the  firm,  sensitive  mouth, 


14  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

prophetic  of  a  resolute  but  impressionable  nature.  Wholly 
foreign  to  the  Bentons  was  the  standard  by  which  this  little 
girl  formed  her  swift  decisions  and  judgments.  The  inner 
light  which  guided  her  seemed  a  ray  from  some  distant  star, 
rather  than  a  torch  lit  at  the  home  fireside. 

Dr.  Kennard  felt  that  he  had  never  understood  his 
mother  until  his  daughter  became  her  interpreter.  And 
yet  it  was  to  her  mother  that  Katharine  owed  the  warmer 
currents  in  her  temperament,  the  softer  impulses  and  the 
unconscious  spontaneity  that  gave  her,  even  in  childhood, 
the  indefinable  quality  which  is  called  charm.  It  was  the 
character  forming  beneath  the  surface  of  temperament 
which  eluded  Mrs.  Kennard. 

Far  more  nearly  akin  to  the  mother  seemed  her  two 
boys.  Adair,  with  his  great  black  eyes,  his  affectionate, 
impetuous  disposition,  his  rollicking  outbursts  of  laughter, 
and  his  tempests  of  tears,  was  thoroughly  a  Benton.  "  A 
real  Southerner,"  Mrs.  Kennard  would  say,  with  fond, 
motherly  pride. 

Under  the  spell  of  his  ringing  tones  the  old  days  of  her 
childhood  in  Baltimore  came  back;  she  could  shut  her 
eyes  and  recall  the  very  scent  of  the  magnolias,  fancying 
herself  again  a  little  girl  romping  with  her  cousin  Adair  at 
The  Willows. 

In  strong  contrast  to  his  brother  was  blue-eyed,  golden- 
haired  Leslie,  the  youngest,  the  one  just  wandering  out 
from  mysterious  babyland.  The  deepest  springs  of  tender- 
ness in  his  mother's  heart  opened  towards  this  child ;  he 
seemed  an  angel  straight  from  heaven  confided  to  her 
care. 

The  Doctor,  realizing  how  frail  is  our  hold  upon  these 
precious  young  lives,  could  not  bear  to  look  at  his  wife  when 
she  gave  her  lingering  good-night  to  her  darling.  Her 
expression  of  unutterable  affection  and  happiness  was  too 


A   LAKESIDE  INTERIOR.  15 

suggestive  of  a  dread  possibility.  "The  bliss  of  eternity  " 
in  her  eyes  inevitably  reminded  him  of  "  that  sword  of 
danger  which  hangs  by  a  hair." 

Katharine  never  appeared  so  like  her  mother  as  when 
playing  with  the  other  children.  She  and  Adair  were  boon 
companions.  Usually  she  yielded  to  his  boyish  self-asser- 
tions, his  whims  and  caprices,  with  an  odd,  elderly  indul- 
gence, as  trifles  not  worth  considering ;  but  let  Adair  make 
the  slightest  attempt  to  tyrannize  over  Leslie,  and  the 
sister  became  a  champion,  formidable  and  decided.  It  was 
beautiful  to  see  her  motherly  air  of  protection  and  fondness 
towards  the  youngest.  Her  protecting  tenderness  extended 
to  all  weak  or  defenceless  things. 

Mrs.  Kennard,  who  loved  out-of-door  life,  often  took  the 
children  to  the  woods  for  the  morning  in  summer.  On  one 
of  these  occasions  little  Leslie  stayed  near  his  mother,  and 
at  last  fell  asleep  in  her  arms  while  listening  to  her  low 
singing  of  old  plantation-songs.  She  kept  on  singing  in  the 
fulness  of  her  happiness  as  she  looked  down  on  the  fair, 
lovely  face,  bordered  with  rings  and  tendrils  of  golden  hair. 
After  a  time  the  other  two  children,  who  had  gone  off  to- 
gether, returned.  Katharine,  remembering  what  her  mother 
liked  for  the  vases  at  home,  was  weary  and  heavy-laden, 
her  arms  filled  and  overflowing  with  long  sprays  of  snowy 
clematis ;  while  Adair,  with  hat  converted  into  a  basket,  had 
gathered  a  number  of  small  stones, — for  Adair  was  making 
a  "  geogical  collection  for  papa."  When  the  flushed  children 
threw  down  their  burdens  and  cast  themselves  beside  their 
mother  for  a  rest,  she  was  ready  with  one  of  the  never- 
failing  stories  of  her  childhood.  And  then,  noticing  a 
clump  of  larkspur-violets  growing  near,  she  sent  Adair  for 
the  flowers,  offering  to  teach  him  and  Kathie  a  little  game 
that  she  and  her  cousins  had  played  with  violets.  Hooking 
two  of  the  little  heads  together  just  beneath  the  blossoms, 


1 6  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

she  gave  a  stem  to  each  child,  with  the  direction,  "  Now 
pull." 

Adair  laughed  gleefully  at  the  result;  but  Katharine 
looked  towards  her  mother  with  reproach  and  surprise  in 
her  hazel  eyes. 

"  I  don't  think  that  is  a  very  nice  game ;  I  don't  care 
to  play  it  any  more."  Then,  picking  up  the  two  fallen 
flowers,  she  continued :  "  See,  they  look  like  small  human 
beings  !  I  think  it  is  very  sorrowful  to  destroy  them  like 
that  when  they  were  growing  so  happily  in  a  family." 

Mrs.  Kennard  felt  uncomfortable,  and  thought :  "  What 
a  queer,  fanciful  child  she  is  !  "  But  Adair,  boy-fashion,  only 
laughed  again,  saying,  "  I  think  it's  fun  !  And  Kathie,  you 
know  they  aren't  human  beings;  you  know  they  can't 
feel.  Why  do  you  think  such  things?  "  Alice  had  not  yet 
come  from  "  Wonderland  "  with  the  unanswerable  "  Why 
not?"  and  Mrs.  Kennard  offering  to  carry  home  the  violet 
faces  and  put  them  in  a  saucer  of  water,  Katharine  was 
consoled. 

Just  then  Adair  looked  through  an  opening  in  the  trees 
and  announced,  "  I  see  Peter  with  the  carriage  coming  in 
the  dumb  distance." 

Katharine,  far  more  likely  to  make  mistakes  in  her  am- 
bitious experiments  with  half-familiar  words  than  was  Adair 
with  his  limited  and  simple  vocabulary,  keenly  relished  any 
blunder  of  her  brother's.  On  the  way  home  she  kept  re- 
peating to  herself,  "dumb  distance,"  "dumb  distance," 
treasuring  it  as  a  good  thing  in  reserve  for  her  father. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WAS  IT  NEMESIS? 

| HEN  the  clematis  and  violets  came  another  year, 
the  sun  was  shining  on  a  double  grave  in  the 
cemetery.  Carved  upon  the  stone  were  the 
names  "Adair  and  Leslie  Kennard."  Scarlet- 
fever,  that  dread  enemy  of  childhood,  had  entered  the 
happy  home.  First  Adair,  then,  two  days  later,  Leslie  had 
been  taken,  while  Katharine  escaped  even  illness. 

The  Doctor's  realization  of  his  own  loss  was  suspended 
by  absorbing  anxiety  for  his  wife,  whose  existence  since 
early  childhood  had  been  free  from  all  sorrow.  But  Mrs. 
Kennard's  religious  faith  was  an  unmeasured  source  of 
strength  to  her.  The  deeper  forces  of  her  nature,  the 
calmness  and  endurance  never  before  tested,  stood  firm 
in  this  trial.  Her  beautiful  eyes  were  wells  of  sorrow,  but 
they  reflected  the  angel  of  faith.  It  seemed  a  mysterious 
Providence  that  had  separated  her  from  her  children,  but 
of  their  welfare  and  happiness  not  a  doubt  crossed  her 
mind;  and  she  held  the  comforting  assurance  that  some 
time  she  should  meet  them,  and  the  tie  between  herself 
and  them  be  recognized. 

Mrs.  Kennard  looked  very  beautiful  in  her  deep  mourn- 
ing, with  the  still,  far-away  expression,  as  if  she  were  listen- 


1 8  HIS  BROKEN-  SWORD. 

ing  to  voices  unheard  by  others ;  and  indeed  she  could 
not  bear  to  lose  the  remembrance  of  the  tones  in  which 
her  absent  ones  had  spoken,  or  to  forget  the  touch  of 
Leslie's  soft,  clinging  little  fingers.  It  was  not  strange 
that  her  loss  and  those  tender  memories  absorbed  her,  and 
made  her  for  a  time  almost  oblivious  to  the  fact  that  any 
one  but  herself  was  suffering. 

The  Doctor  involuntarily  began  to  rely  in  a  way  upon 
Katharine.  The  strongest  sympathy  and  most  complete 
understanding  existed  between  the  two.  Katharine  saw, 
and  in  a  child-like  way  shared,  his  solicitude  for  her  mother ; 
and  though  depressed  and  awed  by  the  strange  shadow  of 
death  over  their  home,  it  became  her  chief  thought  to 
cheer  and  comfort  her  mother.  "  Mamma  might  be  lonely, 
now  she  has  only  me,"  was  her  refusal  when  other  children 
tried  to  draw  her  away  from  home. 

Together  Mrs.  Kennard  and  Katharine  looked  over  and 
packed  away  the  playthings,  carefully  treasuring  every 
memento  of  the  beloved  boys.  Then  Mrs.  Kennard  wrote 
the  record  of  their  brief  lives,  Katharine  contributing  many 
remembered  baby  words  and  baby  blunders,  with  careful 
accounts  of  little  scenes  that  took  place  in  the  nursery 
unknown  to  the  mother. 

Katharine  missed  the  companionship  of  her  little  play- 
mates ;  the  parting  had  been  a  real  wrench  to  her  tender 
heart,  but  she  had  many  resources,  and  her  grief  soon 
passed.  Heaven,  the  home  of  the  boys,  became  an  imagi- 
nary addition  to  her  known  world ;  and  her  thoughts  often 
strayed  through  the  gates  of  pearl,  along  the  streets  of  gold, 
where  she  fancied  her  little  brothers,  —  still  dark-eyed  Adair 
and  golden-haired  Leslie. 

After  some  weeks  had  passed  there  came  a  change  in 
the  calm  resignation  of  Mrs.  Kennard's  grief.  The  pure 


WAS  IT  NEMESIS?  19 

and  sacred  sorrow  was  dyed  with  fear  and  remorse,  and  in 
the  place  of  a  mysterious  and  tender  Providence  she  faced 
the  thought  of  an  avenging  Power. 

Her  sorrow  over  her  dead  children  had  gradually  revived 
a  long-withered  recollection  of  her  childhood.  Again  she 
was  in  New  Orleans,  a  little  girl  standing  beside  her  dead 
father;  and  then  followed  the  breaking  up  of  the  home 
and  the  selling  of  the  slaves,  —  among  these  her  colored 
nurse  Rosina,  who  had  been  like  a  mother  to  her  ever 
after  the  death  of  her  own  mother.  Again  she  remembered 
how  Rosina  had  been  parted  from  her  own  two  daughters, 
and  each  one  sold  to  a  different  master ;  and  Rosina's  look 
of  stony  despair  as  she  left  her  home,  childless,  to  go  away 
among  strangers,  haunted  her  night  and  day. 

Night  after  night  she  dreamed  of  Adair  and  Leslie,  — 
dreamed  of  seeing  them  torn,  living,  from  her  arms  by 
Rosina  and  carried  away  into  slavery ;  until  to  awaken  to  a 
realization  of  their  death  was  a  relief.  She  looked  at  little 
Katharine,  only  to  wonder  if  she  too  lay  under  the  doom  of 
a  fearful  retribution.  Her  sorrow  had  become  the  interpre- 
ter of  sin,  and  she  seemed  to  see  its  shadow  everywhere. 

It  was  her  husband  who  suggested  a  practical  step  which 
did  much  to  restore  Mrs.  Kennard's  peace  of  mind. 

"  Send  to  your  cousins  in  Baltimore  for  three  young 
colored  girls,  and  let  them  come  here  as  servants  ;  that  will 
be  a  simple  and  direct  act  of  reparation  to  a  race  whose 
children  are  still  taken  from  their  mothers  by  a  power 
more  cruel  than  death,"  the  Doctor  said  when  at  last  his 
wife  unburdened  the  secret  sorrow  of  her  soul  to  him. 

"  It 's  going  to  be  such  a  comfort  to  me  to  do  this," 
Mrs.  Kennard  said  to  her  husband  as  she  was  writing  to 
her  cousin  Adair.  "  And,  John,"  —  here  her  voice  low- 
ered, —  "  if  it  had  not  been  for  our  boys  we  never  should 
have  thought  of  this ;  it  comes  through  them,  this  gift  of 


2O  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

freedom ; "  and  hugging  this  precious  assurance  to  her 
heart,  she  finished  her  letter. 

The  next  day  little  Katharine  came  to  her  mother  with 
Hawthorne's  "Wonder-Book"  in  her  hand.  "Mamma," 
she  said,  "  won't  you  read  to  me  about  the  Chimera?  " 

Mrs.  Kennard  began  the  story.  She  had  forgotten  about 
the  Fountain  of  Pirene  that  was  once  a  beautiful  woman 
who  melted  away  all  into  tears  over  the  death  of  her  son, 
and  her  voice  trembled  as  she  read :  "  And  so  the  water 
which  you  find  so  cool  and  sweet  is  the  sorrow  of  that 
poor  mother's  heart." 

"Oh  !  that  never  could  be,  mamma,  could  it?"  Katha- 
rine asked,  with  wondering  earnestness. 

"Yes,  dear,  I  think  so,  I  hope  so,"  the  mother  an- 
swered, laying  down  the  book  and  drawing  her  little  girl 
nearer. 

Just  then  a  white  kitten  appeared  on  the  piazza  where 
they  were  sitting. 

"  Never  mind  about  the  Chimera  now,  mamma ;  we 
must  find  a  name  for  the  kitten,"  Katharine  said,  reaching 
out  and  picking  up  the  new-comer.  "Oh  you  darling 
white  thing  !  you  're  just  as  sweet  as  you  can  be  ;  but  prickly 
as  a  rose-bush,"  she  added. 

"  Blanche  Sweetbrier,  how  do  you  like  that  for  a  name, 
Kathie?  'Blanche  '  means  white." 

Katharine  approved  with  enthusiasm,  and  the  kitten  was 
immediately  decorated  with  a  rose-colored  ribbon.  "  I 
must  see  that  your  roses  are  kept  fresh,"  Katharine  said, 
giving  a  feminine  pat  to  the  pink  bow,  and  then  affection- 
ately stroking  the  silky  fur  of  the  wearer. 

Blanche  Sweetbrier  evinced  her  satisfaction  in  true  kitten 
fashion.  Katharine's  eyes  sparkled.  "  Oh,  mamma,  just 
hear  her  gentle  purr  burst  forth  in  ecstasy ! "  she 
exclaimed. 


WAS  IT  NEMESIS?  21 

A  soft,  rippling  laugh  escaped  Mrs.  Kennard  and  greeted 
her  husband  coming  up  the  garden  walk.  Hearing  her 
father,  Katharine  bounded  down  the  steps  and  joined  him. 
"  Papa,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  eager  tone,  "  did  you  hear 
mamma's  laugh?  Wasn't  it  like  music?  Poor  dear  mam- 
ma !  But  she  has  seemed  happier  all  day  to-day ;  I  sup- 
pose it 's  the  lovely  new  kitten.  Who  would  have  thought 
that  she  cared  so  much  for  kittens? " 

Mrs.  Kennard's  birthday  was  close  at  hand  ;  and  charmed 
by  the  effect  of  Lady  Blanche,  Katharine  soon  decided 
upon  a  birthday  present  for  her  mother,  and  confided  her 
wish  to  the  Doctor. 

"  I  want  two  dogs,  —  twins,  you  know ;  you  must  try 
and  get  twins,  —  yellow  and  black,  and  rather  curly,  —  and 
amiable,  so  that  I  can  trust  Blanche  Sweetbrier  with  them." 

Two  beautiful  Gordon  setters  were  secured,  and  the 
Doctor  took  Katharine  to  see  them. 

"Are  they  named?"  she  inquired  of  the  lank  and  limber 
youth  who  exhibited  them. 

"  Named  ?  I  guess  so.  I  name  'em  in  earliest  infancy ; 
the  last  was  a  bed  of  flowers,  —  Rose,  Pink,  Poppy,  and  so 
on.  These  is  named  from  poets,  the  whole  set,  —  Byron 
and  Shakspeare,  and  Wadsworth  's  over  there ;  but  these 
two,  the  best  of  the  lot,  's  after  the  noble  Romans,  Dante 
and  Tasso." 

Katharine  was  impressed.  She  herself  carried  the  silver 
collars  to  be  engraved  with  these  classical  appellations. 

The  birthday  came,  and  the  twins  were  presented.  A 
prouder  child  than  Katharine  it  would  have  been  hard  to 
find  as  she  said :  "  They  are  named  after  noble  Roman 
poets,  mamma ;  the  man  said  so.  And  they  're  awfully  'cute 
names  too.  Just  look  on  their  collars  !  " 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  the  flopping  creatures  were 
kept  still  long  enough  for  Mrs.  Kennard  to  read,  in  all  the 


22  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

elegance  of  the  engraver's  art,  on  one  "  Dandy ;  "  on  the 
other,  "Tassel." 

"  Kathie,  darling,  they  're  perfect  beauties,"  said  her 
mother ;  but  Kathie  was  puzzled  by  the  glance  of  amuse- 
ment that  flashed  beyond  her  to  the  Doctor. 

The  competent  servants  sent  from  the  South  soon  after 
proved  not  only  a  mental  and  moral  solace,  but  a  satis- 
factory domestic  element  in  the  household.  The  mother 
did  not  cease  to  miss  her  absent  children,  but  old  interests 
were  resumed,  and  gradually  her  natural  serenity  of  spirit 
asserted  itself. 


CHAPTER   III. 

GERMANY  LENDS   A   HAND. 

ANY  of  the  foreigners  who  composed  an  impor- 
tant portion  of  the  early  settlers  of  Milwaukee 
were  from  the  educated  classes;  and  as  the 
place  increased  in  importance,  a  fine  Eastern 
element  gathered  there. 

Individuality  was  pronounced,  and  social  intercourse  was 
cordial  and  unconventional.  The  ladies  from  the  East, 
anxious  not  to  fall  behind  old  friends  in  information, 
eagerly  read  the  new  books  and  studied  the  old  ones  as 
they  had  not  done  in  communities  where  they  expected  to 
inhale  "  culture  "  in  the  air.  Through  "  lecture-courses  " 
the  silver-tongued  prophets,  priests,  and  poets  from  a 
distance  poured  their  purest  inspirations  into  this  fresh 
Western  life ;  and  more  than  one  of  these  eloquent  leaders 
carried  with  him  from  Milwaukee  the  remembrance  of  a 
delightful  gathering  of  congenial  spirits  at  Dr.  Kennard's 
home  after  the  close  of  a  lecture. 

It  was  in  this  active  and  exhilarating  mental  and  social 
atmosphere  that  Katharine  Kennard  passed  through  child- 
hood into  girlhood.  It  had  been  Mrs.  Kennard's  intention 
to  have  private  teachers  for  her  daughter  until  Katharine 
was  old  enough  to  be  sent  East  to  finish  her  education ;  but 


24  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

to  this  plan  the  Doctor  objected.  He  saw  in  his  daughter 
a  combination  of  the  two  women  he  had  loved  best,  — 
his  mother  and  his  wife.  Her  heart  was  warm,  her  con- 
science sensitive,  her  sincerity  unclouded,  her  mind  at 
once  receptive  and  penetrating,  and  she  was  fearless  in 
opinion  and  action.  The  Doctor  wished  to  secure  for  her 
the  free  development  of  a  fine  nature  under  the  conditions 
which  were  likely  to  surround  her  future. 

"  Katharine  is  a  Milwaukee  girl,"  the  Doctor  said  to  his 
wife.  "  Let  her  natural  grain  be  polished  and  brought  out ; 
but  I  don't  want  any  veneering,  any  surface  Bostonian, 
New  Yorker,  or  Philadelphian."  He  believed  that  the 
character  to  stand  the  wear  and  tear,  the  suns  and  storms 
of  life  was  the  one  developed  from  within  outward,  and 
not  a  stamped  article.  And  then  Dr.  Kennard  had  been 
an  earnest  advocate  of  the  public  school,  and  thought  it 
but  consistent  that  he  should  send  his  daughter  to  that 
democratic  institution ;  but  he  willingly  conceded  that  she 
should  have  a  final  year  at  any  Eastern  seminary  which  his 
wife  might  select. 

Katharine's  horizon  began  to  widen  with  her  entrance  into 
the  public  school.  She  was  then  a  slim  girl,  alert  and  grace- 
ful in  her  movements,  with  long  silky  braids  down  her  back, 
and  a  face  expressive  and  attractive,  but  not  beautiful. 

A  certain  Elsie  Brentano,  a  plump,  blond  maiden  of 
German  descent,  was  one  of  the  recipients  of  Katharine's 
school-girl  devotion.  Elsie  had  a  good  solid  mind  as  well 
as  body,  and  was  a  leader  in  her  classes ;  her  calm  and 
matronly  aplomb  afforded  sure  anchorage  for  Katharine's 
energetic  activity;  and  a  firm  friendship  was  formed  be- 
tween the  two. 

The  Brentano  home  possessed  great  charm  for  Katha- 
rine ;  an  occasional  evening  there  was  like  an  excursion 
into  a  foreign  land.  The  whole  Brentano  family  were  mu- 


GERMANY  LENDS  A   HAND.  2$ 

sical,  and  the  father  and  mother,  with  their  older  children, 
could  furnish  a  domestic  concert  of  real  excellence.  Kath- 
arine would  quiver  with  enthusiasm  when  the  male  voices 
made  the  room  ring  with  their  folk-songs  and  drinking- 
songs,  and  Herr  Brentano's  rendering  of  Schumann  was 
something  to  be  remembered  for  a  lifetime. 

It  was  after  one  of  these  evenings  with  the  Brentanos 
that  the  young  girl  amazed  her  mother  by  declaring  that 
she  hated  her  pieces  with  variations,  and  never  wanted  to 
touch  the  piano  again  unless  she  could  take  lessons  of 
Herr  Brentano ;  further  asserting  that  her  present  teacher, 
Miss  Marsh,  seemed  to  think  that  music  was  only  so  much 
sound  to  so  much  time ;  while  the  Professor's  music,  — 
why  it  was  poetry  and  pictures,  it  was  smiles  and  tears,  it 
was  sunshine  and  storm  ;  it  was  everything! 

"  Well,  Kathie,  I  reckon  you  had  better  go  to  bed ;  we 
don't  want  all  these  things  in  our  parlor  just  now.  And  did 
you  practise  your  scales  to-day?"  was  Mrs.  Kennard's  ex- 
tinguishing reply.  But  there  was  a  reassuring  look  in 
Mamma  Kennard's  face  that  gave  hope  to  Miss  Katharine 
as  she  tossed  back  her  braids  and  bent  to  kiss  her  mother 
good-night. 

When  Professor  Brentano  took  her  in  training  soon  after, 
Katharine  discovered  that  some  rather  severe  drill  in  the 
way  of  notes  and  time  went  into  the  production  of  the 
poetry  and  sunshine.  But  however  much  she  disliked 
laying  her  musical  foundations,  the  development  of  the 
superstructure  was  always  simple  delight  to  her.  She 
seized  on  phrasing  with  a  keen  intellectual  interest  that 
astonished  her  teacher.  She  liked  to  make  the  acquain- 
tance of  a  new  piece  of  music  away  from  the  piano,  famil- 
iarizing herself  with  movement,  rhythm,  and  phrasing, — 
mastering  the  idea  of  the  composition  before  hearing  a  note 
of  it.  "  I  don't  want  the  sound  to  distract  my  attention," 


26  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

she  would  say.  But  when  she  played,  she  listened  with 
complete  absorption  and  self-forgetfulness,  as  though  every 
tone  spoke  to  her  heart  and  carried  a  message  too  precious 
to  be  missed. 

"When  the  mind  as  well  as  the  emotions  apprehend 
music,  then  we  get  our  true  musicians,"  said  the  Profes- 
sor to  his  wife  at  the  close  of  one  of  Katharine's  lessons. 
"  What  a  pity  it  is  that  this  young  Miss  Kennard  is  not 
poor ;  then  she  might  flower  into  something  of  a  genius. 
But  now,  life  is  too  easy  for  her,  furnishes  too  many  distrac- 
tions. Then,  too,  she  will  play  for  those  stupid  young 
men,  —  beaux  they  call  them ;  they  have  to  go  to  the  friv- 
olous French  to  get  a  word  light  enough  to  define  them, 
—  they  will  want  to  hear  nothing  better  than  airs  from  Ital- 
ian operas ;  and,  like  her  beautiful  mamma,  she  will  wish 
always  to  please,  and  will  lower  her  music  to  suit  her 
hearers.  We  Germans  have  more  respect  for  our  art  —  or 
perhaps  we  are  more  selfish,  and  care  less  to  please ;  it 
makes  no  difference  to  us,  we  go  on  playing  our  Bee- 
thoven, and  if  the  Americans  care  not  to  listen,  they  can 
go  out  and  whittle  their  sticks,"  he  concluded  with  a 
shrug. 

Katharine  shared  the  Professor's  aversion  to  much  of  the 
popular  music  ;  and  yet  she  had  a  friendly  regard  for  hand- 
organs,  and  her  inborn  love  of  simple  melody  was  strong. 
The  plantation-songs  sung  by  her  mother  formed  a  part  of 
her  earliest  consciousness,  and  a  deep  chord  in  her  nature 
vibrated  to  all  the  negro  melodies. 

She  was  sitting  at  the  Brentanos'  piano  in  the  deepening 
twilight  of  one  February  afternoon  ;  the  Professor,  appar- 
ently lost  in  some  volume  of  dense  German  metaphysics, 
was  scowling  in  his  effort  to  concentrate  the  fading  light, 
when  Katharine  began  in  a  low  tone  to  sing  the  "  Suwanee 
River."  She  finished  the  first  verse ;  then  the  Professor's 


GERMANY  LENDS  A   HAND.  2f 

voice  thundered  out :  "  Miss  Kennard,  you  shall  not  sing 
like  that ;  you  are  not  a  slave.  It  is  terrible,  that  music  ; 
I  will  not  hear  it.  It  is  the  melody  of  a  broken  heart  and 
lost  hope." 

"  I  will  not  sing  it  again,"  the  girl  answered,  "  to  you ; 
but  do  not  think  I  shall  forget  it.  I  am  nearly  a  woman 
now;  I  know  what  goes  on  in  these  United  States.  We 
Northerners  may  sing  of  our  Star-Spangled  Banners,  our 
'  land  of  the  brave  and  home  of  the  free,'  of  our  Sweet 
Land  of  Liberty;  but  we  cannot  suppress  those  great 
minor  chords  from  the  South.  America  has  its  school  of 
music,  bound  in  with  a  century  of  history." 

Katharine  had  been  reading  one  of  Wendell  Phillips's 
speeches  to  her  father  the  night  before,  and  his  powerful 
and  pathetic  eloquence  echoed  through  her  soul  as  it  did 
through  the  souls  of  so  many  in  that  winter  of  1861. 

Another  branch  of  Katharine's  education  beside  her 
music  was  pursued  with  the  Brentanos  in  weekly  readings 
in  German  with  Mrs.  Brentano  and  Elsie.  The  Professor's 
wife,  a  German  lady  of  good  birth  and  thorough  education, 
had  mingled  with  scholars  and  literary  people  in  Frankfort, 
and  she  opened  to  the  two  young  girls  the  richest  treasures 
in  the  literature  of  her  native  country. 

Katharine  hated  French,  —  slippery  and  artificial,  she 
called  it ;  but  the  German,  with  its  clumsy,  expressive 
compound  words,  gave  her  great  satisfaction.  "What  a 
genuine,  simple,  and  hearty  language  it  is,  that  calls  ami- 
able people  '  love-worthy.'  It 's  like  dear  Frau  Brentano 
herself,  such  a  motherly  housewife,  with  all  her  learning," 
Katharine  had  said  at  the  beginning  of  her  readings ;  and 
as  she  became  familiar  with  German  literature  she  retained 
the  same  feeling. 

But  Mrs.  Brentano,  even  with  the  aid  of  the  Professor, 
could  not  overcome  Katharine's  aversion  to  Goethe  — 


28 


fffS  BROKEN  SWORD. 


"  Hermann  und  Dorothea  "  alone  excepted.  The  Professor 
once  read  aloud  to  her  some  of  the  most  majestic  passages 
from  "  Faust." 

"  Just  listen  to  that,  Fraulein  Katerina !  Where  can 
you  find  anything  like  that  resonant  musical  verse  ?  "  he 
exclaimed,  with  genuine  German  enthusiasm. 

But  the  obdurate  Miss  Kennard  only  replied :  "  Very 
good  as  music,  I  admit ;  neither  do  I  question  its  claims 
as  poetry.  But  the  poet  I  cannot  abide.  Let  us  forget 
him,  please,  in  a  few  pages  from  Schiller  or  Lessing." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PRUNING-HOOKS  TURNED  INTO   SPEARS. 

UT  these  talks  on  German  literature  did  not 
come  until  Katharine  was  eighteen  and  had 
graduated  from  the  High -School,  and  had 
looped  up  her  braids  and  lengthened  her 
dresses.  It  was  the  year  after  the  war  had  broken  out, 
and  the  country  was  still  trembling  under  the  shock  of 
change  and  separation  which  followed. 

Mrs.  Kennard,  who  had  believed  the  South  invincible  in 
its  power,  was  not  to  be  convinced  at  this  time  that  New 
York  or  Philadelphia  was  secure  from  danger ;  and  Kath- 
arine's departure  for  an  Eastern  school  was  therefore  post- 
poned. In  her  heart  she  was  glad  of  an  excuse  to  keep 
her  daughter  near  her,  for  the  war  was  a  double-edged 
sorrow  to  Mrs.  Kennard :  her  conscience  was  with  the 
North  ;  but  her  sympathies  were  divided,  and  she  was  ap- 
palled by  the  chasm  which  had  suddenly  opened  between 
her  and  her  kindred. 

Notwithstanding  the  shadow  of  the  war,  Katharine 
found  existence  full  of  interest  and  enjoyment.  Milwau- 
kee was  alive  with  patriotic  excitement.  The  sudden  trans- 
formation of  farmers'  sons  and  tradesmen's  clerks  into  sol- 
diers in  gay  uniform  ready  to  die  for  their  country ;  and 


3O  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

of  her  own  intimate  acquaintances  into  dashing  young  cap- 
tains and  lieu-tenants;  the  military  companies  passing 
through  the  streets,  with  bayonets  flashing  in  the  sun, 
and  flags  waving  in  the  breeze  to  the  inspiriting  sound  of 
martial  music,  —  it  was  all  most  picturesque  and  thrilling 
to  an  imaginative  girl  like  Katharine.  Life  began  to  seem 
an  exciting  chapter  of  history,  with  a  thread  of  romance 
running  through  it. 

A  "  Soldiers'  Aid  Society "  arose  and  flourished,  with 
Mrs.  Kennard  among  the  managers ;  and  Katharine,  with 
all  the  young  girls  of  her  acquaintance,  assisted  with 
burning  enthusiasm  in  the  manufacture  of  garments  for 
the  soldiers,  —  yes,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  insert 
a  note  in  a  pocket  destined  for  hospital  use ;  a  note  of 
patriotism  and  encouragement,  written  with  the  hope  of 
cheering  and  amusing  some  wounded  soldier,  and  signed 
"  Rosalind." 

Elsie  Brentano,  Queen  of  the  Needle,  took  in  tow  a 
dozen  or  more  of  the  inexperienced  and  frivolous  maid- 
ens who  excelled  in  blunders.  "Remember,  girls,  the 
boys  and  the  buttons  always  on  the  right  side,"  was  an 
illogical  but  effective  direction  that  came  back  to  Kath- 
arine Kennard  for  years  after,  whenever  she  happened  to 
be  in  doubt  as  to  "  the  button  side." 

The  Aid  Society  also  contributed  a  series  of  entertain- 
ments, in  which  the  young  ladies  were  brilliant  and  ac- 
tive participants.  Talent  and  ingenuity  hitherto  latent  were 
fanned  into  flame  by  the  breezes  of  patriotism.  Concerts, 
fairs,  dramatic  rendering  of  scenes  from  the  "Widow 
Bedott  Papers,"  with  other  diversions,  popular  in  attraction, 
but  select  in  character,  were  given  with  unabating  zeal ; 
even  Katharine's  afternoons  with  the  Brentanos  were  in- 
vaded, the  German  readings  frequently  giving  place  to 
musical  rehearsals  under  the  Professor's  direction. 


PRUNING-HOOKS  TURNED  INTO  SPEARS.       31 

One  spring  morning  a  quiet  wedding  took  place  at  the 
Brentanos'.  Elsie  had  given  her  heart  and  promised  her 
hand  some  months  before.  When  her  lover  asked  her 
consent  to  his  joining  the  army,  her  instant  resolve  was  not 
to  deter  him  from  any  duty ;  and  silencing  the  outcry  of 
her  heart,  she  answered :  "  If  you  think  it  right,  we  must 
bear  it;  and  all  who  go  to  the  war  do  not  die."  And 
she  gladly  yielded  to  his  desire  that  the  marriage  should 
take  place  before  the  separation. 

The  room  was  flooded  with  April  sunshine  when  Elsie 
stood  beside  her  soldier-lover  and  became  his  bride.  Kath- 
arine was  with  her  friend  as  bridesmaid,  and  shared  with 
complete  sympathy  the  mingled  joy  and  sorrow  of  the 
hour.  But  oh,  that  sacrifice  !  Could  she  give  so  much  for 
any  cause  ?  Was  not  one  more  to  one  than  the  whole 
world  beside  ?  To  die,  —  that  might  not  be  so  hard ; 
but  to  give  up  one's  dearest,  and  then  live  on  !  Katharine 
hoped  that  love  would  not  come  to  her  before  the  war  was 
over. 

When  Elsie,  now  Mrs.  Vandyne,  met  with  the  young 
girls  at  the  Aid  Society  next  time,  she  seemed  so  removed 
from  them,  and  to  have  advanced  so  far  into  womanhood, 
that  they  were  not  surprised  to  learn  that  all  her  prepara- 
tions were  completed  to  leave  home  and  go  into  hospital 
work  during  the  absence  of  her  husband. 

The  Professor  and  Mrs.  Brentano  consented  to  give  up 
their  daughter ;  but  the  home  was  very  different  when  she 
was  away.  "  Elsie  was  a  good  girl,  always  a  good  girl," 
said  the  mother  to  Katharine ;  "  and  to  those  poor  soldiers 
who  will  have  her  care  she  will  be  like  an  angel,  so  gentle 
and  steady  and  strong.  Elsie  knows  always  what  to  do, 
and  how  to  do  it." 

But  Mrs.  Vandyne  was  destined  to  one  of  those  revolu- 
tions of  emotion  which  form  the  tragic  element  in  the 


32  ffIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

unwritten  history  of  every  war.  Within  three  months  of  his 
marriage,  Lieutenant  Vandyne  fell  in  his  first  battle. 

When  Mrs.  Brentano  wrote,  urging  her  daughter's  return 
to  Milwaukee,  the  reply  came  :  "  No ;  for  duty  does  not 
end  with  happiness.  It  is  best  for  me  too  that  I  stay  here. 
The  soldiers  are  dear  to  me  for  the  sake  of  my  own  who 
is  gone,  and  without  work  I  should  die.  I  have  no  time 
to  think  of  my  trouble.  I  remember,  because  remembrance 
lives  in  the  heart  through  all  else ;  but  my  thoughts  are 
occupied  with  the  demands  of  each  hour.  My  comfort  lies 
in  helping  to  save  life  and  in  the  hope  that  I  may  turn 
sorrow  like  mine  from  other  women." 

Katharine  Kennard,  with  her  own  courage  and  endur- 
ance untested,  felt  a  passionate  admiration  for  her  friend, 
whose  gentle  nature  proved  so  unswerving  in  fortitude  and 
action. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  LAST  WALTZ. 

j|S  time  passed,  and  Washington  still  remained 
secure  in  the  hands  of  the  Federal  Government, 
Mrs.  Kennard's  fears  as  to  the  safety  of  Eastern 
cities  in  the  North  were  dissipated  ;  and  accord- 
ingly Katharine  was  established  in  a  New  York  school  in 
the  autumn  of  '63. 

The  year  that  followed  was  an  interesting  and  enjoyable 
chapter  in  Katharine's  life.  The  city  itself  charmed  her. 
The  morning  walks  along  the  beautiful  broad  avenues  gave 
her  fresh  delight  each  day.  The  excursions  to  art-stores 
and  picture-galleries  opened  a  new  sphere  of  pleasure  and 
suggested  broad  avenues  of  future  study. 

In  New  York  also  she  first  heard  fine  orchestral  music, 
and  experienced  a  sensation  as  if  her  soul  had  been  set  free 
to  float  upon  an  infinite  ocean  of  harmony.  The  great 
waves  of  sound  overwhelmed  her  consciousness  of  every- 
thing outside  the  mystic  world  of  music.  What  was  this 
inexpressible,  thrilling  influence,  reaching  her  through  the 
senses,  yet  etherealizing  all  thought  and  emotion?  How 
could  the  mere  transitions  of  tone  in  certain  modulations 
give  such  sudden  and  exquisite  pleasure  ?  Why  should  her 

3 


34  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

inmost  being  vibrate  in  answer  to  the  something  calling  to 
her  through  the  heaving  billows  of  sound?  Not  to  the 
domain  of  science,  but  rather  to  the  Spirit-Land  she  turned 
for  answer  to  these  questions. 

"Look  at  Miss  Kennard's  face,"  whispered  one  teacher 
to  another  at  a  Symphony  concert ;  "  did  you  ever  see 
such  an  expression  of  perfect  rapture  ?  It  is  as  if  she  were 
looking  into  heaven  itself.  I  wish  that  this  slow,  heavy 
movement  could  send  me  into  an  ecstasy;  but  I'm  too 
material,"  and  the  stout  teacher  never  discovered  what 
Katharine  heard  in  that  music. 

Katharine  spent  her  Christmas  holidays  with  an  old 
friend  of  her  mother's  who  occupied  one  of  the  beautiful 
houses  on  Madison  Avenue.  Mrs.  Sheldon's  home  was  filled 
with  young  people,  —  college  friends  of  her  son,  and  school 
friends  of  her  daughter ;  and  the  young  men  and  maidens 
revelled  in  the  innocent  pomps  and  vanities  of  this  wicked 
world. 

Picturesque,  graceful,  and  animated,  the  Western  girl  was 
extremely  attractive  and  popular.  Even  when  most  digni- 
fied, the  slight  upward  tip  of  her  nose  gave  spice  to  her 
expression.  Her  little  audacious  remarks,  in  a  low,  clear, 
voice,  amused  the  young  men ;  and  there  was  something 
very  engaging  in  her  frank  simplicity  and  her  undisguised 
pleasure  in  trifles.  Life  was  to  her  such  an  enjoyable  expe- 
rience altogether  that  she  unconsciously  made  it  enjoyable 
for  others. 

"  I  don't  believe  any  girl  ever  had  such  a  perfectly  lovely 
time,"  she  said  over  and  over  during  her  visit. 

Brief  snatches  of  flirtation  passed  between  the  young  men 
and  Katharine  in  the  chance  intervals  between  dressing, 
receiving,  and  going  out ;  but  though  the  youths  were  all 
somewhat  fascinating,  in  the  multitude  of  admirers  there 
was  safety. 


A   LAST  WALTZ.  35 

Grandmother  Sheldon,  in  her  demure  dress  of  Quaker 
gray,  fell  in  love  with  this  light-hearted  girl,  who  more  than 
once  slipped  away  from  the  gay  group  in  the  drawing-room 
for  a  few  moments  with  the  old  lady  by  the  fireside  in  the 
library.  As  naturally  and  comfortably  as  a  kitten,  Katharine 
would  curl  herself  up  on  the  rug  before  the  fire,  lay  her 
slender  hands  in  Grandmother  Sheldon's  lap,  and  with  a 
few  piquant  touches  give  suggestive  sketches  of  what  she 
had  been  doing  or  seeing,  or  what  was  going  on  in  the 
drawing-room.  And  one  stormy  morning,  as  the  two  had 
an  hour  together,  the  old  lady  opened  a  fascinating  store 
of  reminiscences  of  her  own  girlhood  in  New  York,  while 
the  young  girl's  bright  face  sparkled  and  dimpled  with 
sympathetic  interest. 

Balls,  parties,  and  operas  followed  in  bewildering  succes- 
sion. Whatever  the  globe  might  be  doing,  Katharine's  own 
world  certainly  revolved  rapidly  in  those  days. 

When  ready  for  her  first  ball,  Katharine  wondered  her- 
self at  the  charming  reflection  that  smiled  back  to  her  in 
shimmering  folds  of  silvery  blue  from  the  depths  of  her 
mirror.  Every  girl  realizes  a  certain  sense  of  added  dignity 
and  grace  as  she  casts  a  fond  glance  over  her  shoulder 
upon  her  first  train.  Those  superfluous  yards  of  silk  wield 
an  impalpable  influence  over  their  wearer ;  they  have  been 
thought  of  for  weeks  before  ;  in  imagination  she  has  heard 
their  sweep  and  rustle ;  they  emblazon  her  right  to  play  a 
part  on  the  world's  stage.  No  doubt  a  reflection  from 
that  soft  and  shining  silken  train  gave  added  light  to 
Katharine's  eyes. 

The  ball  itself  was  a  scene  of  bewildering  enchantment. 
The  radiant  lights,  the  alluring  music,  the  delicate,  pervad- 
ing perfume  of  the  flowers  were  in  themselves  suggestive  of 
all  imaginable  delight.  The  lovely  women  in  ethereal  and 
dazzling  toilets,  floating  with  the  undulating  movement  of 


3g  .  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

the  music,  reminded  Katharine  of  a  bed  of  flowers  swaying 
in  the  breeze. 

"  And  then  my  heart  with  rapture  thrills, 
And  dances  with  the  daffodils," 

she  whispered.  She  felt  herself  a  part  of  this  beautiful 
fantasy. 

The  evening  was  so  dreamlike  in  its  fleeting  hours  and 
brilliant  variations  that  afterwards  Katharine  could  not  recall 
the  half  of  her  partners.  She  remembered  Sir  Edward 
Beresford,  whose  English  blue  eyes  opened  wide  with  sur- 
prise when  he  learned  that  he  was  dancing  with  a  native  of 
Wisconsin.  Nor  did  she  forget  a  certain  Major  Allston,  her 
partner  in  the  last  waltz.  "This  is  a  farewell  dance  for 
me,"  he  had  said  at  its  close.  "  My  furlough  expires,  and 
I  start  to  rejoin  my  regiment  to-morrow ;  and  you  will  easily 
believe  that  I  shall  remember  this  last  waltz." 

Katharine  thought  of  Lieutenant  Vandyne,  and  a  note  of 
the  funeral  dirge  was  heard  above  the  music  of  the  dance. 
But,  like  Elsie  Brentano,  she  reasoned,  "  All  who  go  to  the 
war  do  not  die ; "  and  handing  the  Major  a  tea-rose  bud 
from  her  bouquet,  she  said,  "  Let  me  give  you  this  flower  for 
good  luck  and  a  safe  return." 

For  a  moment  her  hazel  eyes  were  lifted  to  his  with  a 
look  of  sweet  seriousness  and  sympathy  that  photographed 
itself  on  the  young  soldier's  memory.  The  charming  girl 
in  her  shining  silk  was  unheeded,  as  he  recognized  a 
woman  quick  to  feel  for  others.  It  was  a  pair  of  good 
honest  gray  eyes  that  looked  down  upon  Katharine  as 
Major  Allston  said  good-night  and  good-bye,  with  a  smile 
that  seemed  to  envelop  her  in  its  warmth.  As  he  left  her 
with  Mrs.  Sheldon,  the  young  man  wondered  if  that  serious 
look  came  into  Miss  Kennard's  eyes  because  some  one 
very  dear  to  her  was  in  the  army. 


A   LAST  WALTZ.  37 

Katharine  had  never  appreciated  Milwaukee  as  she  did 
after  her  return  from  New  York.  "  Fifth  Avenue  is  all  very 
well  —  very  magnificent,  I  mean  ;  but  what  can  any  city 
offer  to  compare  with  dear  old  Lake  Michigan  ?  It  gives  a 
deeper  music  than  any  written  symphony ;  and  as  for  beauty 
—  no  painting  can  compare  with  this  living,  moving  picture. 
How  did  I  ever  live  away  from  it  for  ten  long  months  !  " 
she  exclaimed,  looking  rapturously  over  the  plain  of  blue- 
green  water,  with  its  breaking  waves  curling  into  crests  of 
dazzling  whiteness. 

"  Kathie,  dear,"  said  her  mother,  "stand  off;  let  me 
take  a  good  look  at  you  now  that  you  are  out  of  that  dusty 
travelling-suit.  Yes,  you  are  all  right.  I  knew  that  New 
York  would  be  the  place  for  you.  You  have  learned  how 
to  carry  yourself,  you  have  gained  style;  and  your  hair  is 
just  lovely  "done  in  that  way.  Now,  John  Kennard,"  and 
she  turned  to  her  husband,  "  lay  down  that  newspaper  and 
look  at  Katharine,  —  she  is  infinitely  more  interesting  than 
the  war-news.  And  I  want  you  to  admit  that  your  daughter 
is  improved.  There  's  no  place  in  America  like  New 
York  to  bring  out  a  girl's  good  points,"  she  concluded 
with  candid  complacency. 

The  Doctor  obediently  laid  aside  his  newspaper  and 
surveyed  Katharine  in  silence  from  her  crown  of  golden- 
brown  hair  to  the  tip  of  her  dainty  little  boot. 

"  Don't  mind  mamma ;  you  will  make  me  feel  as  if  I 
were  one  of  Mrs.  Jarley's  wax-works,  being  looked  at  and 
discussed  with  this  unblushing  frankness,"  protested  Kath- 
arine, slipping  her  hand  within  her  father's  arm. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


STAR-SPANGLED  BANNER,  AND  BONNIE   BLUE  FLAG. 

},Y  this  time,  the  summer  of  1864,  the  war  had 
become  the  background  of  national  life  in  the 
United  States.  Not  a  village  so  small  but  its 
numbers  were  reduced ;  not  a  family  so  insig- 
nificant but  its  interests  were  affected.  The  passing  whistle 
of  an  idle  boy  was  a  reminder  of  "  Dixie  Land  "  or  of 
"John  Brown's  Body ; "  the  organs  in  the  churches  pealed 
forth  "  My  Country,  't  is  of  Thee,"  the  organs  in  the  streets 
droned  out "  Kingdom  Comin'." 

Little  fellows  not  out  of  frocks  personated  generals  and 
played  at  war,  emulating  in  ideals  the  actualities  of  their 
fathers  or  brothers ;  good-for-nothing  ne'er-do-weels  so- 
bered up  and  enlisted,  and  happily  in  many  cases  died  for 
the  cause,  thus  securing  through  Government  the  support 
they  would  never  have  earned  for  their  families ;  men  who 
for  thirty  or  forty  years  had  lived  unsuccessful  and  un- 
noticed, sprang  into  prominence,  and  discovered  them- 
selves leaders  and  heroes  whose  names  would  shine  in 
history. 

As  in  the  vegetable  kingdom  the  heat  of  a  tropical  sun 
warms  into  active  development  every  seed  and  germ  of  life, 
so  the  all-pervading  fire  of  enthusiasm  excited  and  vital- 


STAR-SPANGLED  BANNER.  39 

ized  the  latent  mental  and  moral  forces  among  individuals. 
Fortunes  as  well  as  reputations  were  created  with  marvel- 
lous rapidity ;  unscrupulous  sharpers  were  quick  to  seize 
opportunities  for  large  personal  gains ;  but  in  the  general 
fusion  of  small  individual  aims  with  one  great  purpose,  a 
vast  amount  of  selfishness  was  melted  away,  and  many  slug- 
gish springs  of  sympathy  were  set  flowing. 

In  this  sudden  illumination  of  character,  crystals  sparkled 
in  every  pebble.  Deeds  of  valor  shone  out  as  stars,  even 
in  the  dark  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death, — that  black 
canvas  against  which  every  battle-scene  is  painted.  Silent, 
patient,  and  unyielding  as  the  Sphinx,  the  great  general  of 
the  North  pressed  his  siege ;  steadily  the  victorious  army 
was  marching  on,  while  Northern  soldiers  were  starving  in 
Southern  prisons,  while  stronger  and  blacker  grew  the  great 
wave  of  destruction  and  desolation  passing  over  the  South. 

But  old  Mother  Nature  took  no  interest  in  all  these 
temporary  commotions.  She  might  be  unsympathetic,  but 
she  was  trustworthy,  and  attended  to  all  her  duties.  Sun- 
shine fell  bright  and  clear  as  ever;  the  quiet  hills  and 
mountains  lay  enfolded  in  purple  haze,  and  sea  and  lake 
lost  none  of  their  morning  ripples  and  sparkles,  nor  of  their 
silvery  shimmer  in  moonlight.  Men  of  the  South  and  men 
of  the  North  might  fire  away  at  each  other ;  all  the  same 
Nature  took  good  care  of  the  great  reservoirs  from  whence 
flow  the  springs  of  human  action.  Battles  might  be  fought, 
but  the  homes  must  be  bound  together  by  the  old  stand-by 
affections.  This  war  would  soon  be  over,  and  meantime 
here  was  a  whole  generation  of  American  babies  to  be 
looked  after  and  preserved  for  times  of  peace,  and  not  all 
the  American  girls  were  engaged  to  marry  soldiers,  or  could 
be  nurses  in  hospitals.  And  so,  notwithstanding  the  cloud 
over  the  country,  in  countless  homes  the  essential  elements 
of  family  life,  though  modified,  were  not  displaced. 


4O 


BROKEN  SWORD. 


Both  Dr.  Kennard  and  his  wife  took  an  active  interest  in 
the  Soldiers'  Home,  then  such  a  prominent  adjunct  of 
Milwaukee,  and  both  did  their  share  of  thinking  and  work- 
ing for  the  soldiers.  Mrs.  Kennard  never  forgot  the  South- 
ern relatives  so  dear  to  her,  but  the  Doctor's  home  was 
cheerful  and  serene.  Katharine's  presence  seemed  always 
to  pervade  the  house  ;  one  could  usually  trace  her  by  some 
musical  sound,  —  a  ripple  of  laughter,  a  fragment  of  song, 
a  burst  of  melody  from  the  piano,  unless  she  happened 
to  be  absorbed  in  reading. 

Not  long  after  Katharine's  return  from  school  there 
appeared  one  morning  on  Mrs.  Kennard's  lawn  a  small 
colony  of  negroes,  who  through  fortunes  of  war  had  drifted 
from  the  Maryland  Benton  estate  out  to  Milwaukee.  Their 
greeting  to  the  lady  of  the  house  was  the  confiding  an- 
nouncement :  "  You  see,  Miss  Florence,  ole  Mammy  there 
remembers  you  when  you  was  a  gal  down  to  Baltimore. 
She  used  to  wait  on  you  a  heap,  she  says,  and  so 
we  Ve  come  up  yeah  for  you  to  take  care  of  us."  Mrs. 
Kennard  instantly,  faced  the  situation  in  her  calm,  cheerful 
fashion,  extended  a  plump  white  hand  to  "  ole  Mammy  " 
in  cordial  welcome,  and  on  the  spot  became  the  patron  saint 
of  the  little  community. 

Fortunate  would  it  be  for  the  country  if  the  whole  negro 
problem  could  be  solved  in  separate  solutions  instead  of  in 
the  mass.  Beyond  the  difficulty  of  teaching  them  the  ele- 
mentary fact  that  free  people  must  take  care  of  themselves, 
Mrs.  Kennard  had  but  little  trouble  from  her  charges.  She 
easily  opened  opportunities  for  their  self-support,  and  her 
kindly  interest  in  their  affairs,  her  practical  common-sense 
suggestions,  were  a  constant  encouragement  to  them. 
Katharine  tendered  her  services  as  teacher  of  the  rudi- 
ments to  the  "  colored  persons  "  who  cared  to  avail  them- 
selves of  the  opportunity.  There  was  little  difficulty  with 


STAR-SPANGLED  BANNER.  41 

the  younger  ones,  but  teaching  the  elders  was  like  boring 
into  cotton. 

One  young  woman,  the  fortunate  possessor  of  a  husband, 
was  ambitious  of  learning  to  read  before  her  children  should 
be  old  enough  to  estimate  her  ignorance.  Valiantly  she 
toiled  in  the  face  of  difficulties  for  some  time.  One  day 
she  encountered  an  unusually  puzzling  combination  of 
letters  :  "  L-o-v-e,  —  what  does  that  spell,  Miss  Katha- 
rine?" she  asked.  At  the  reply  her  black  eyes  rounded 
with  astonishment.  With  mingled  indignation  and  con- 
tempt she  protested :  "  Love,  that  spell  love?  Just  only 
four  letters  ?  Well,  that 's  a  mighty  poor  way  of  spelling  love 
accordirf  as  I  knows  it ! "  and  disgusted  with  the  appar- 
ent inadequacy  of  printed  language,  she  closed  her  book, 
never  again  to  open  it.  One  by  one  all,  except  the  chil- 
dren, followed  her  example.  The  light-hearted,  ignorant 
boys  and  girls  were  faithful  to  their  clever  young  mistress, 
whose  very  presence  seemed  to  sharpen  their  dull  wits  and 
to  impart  life  to  the  dead  letters  in  their  books,  while 
Katharine  was  genuinely  interested,  and  found  the  droll 
little  darkies  a  source  of  no  end  of  amusement. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


WIDENING     VISTAS. 

"  Day  by  day  ...  to  her  much  she  added  more. 
In  her  hundred-gated  Thebes  every  chamber  was  a  door,  — 
A  door  to  something  grander, 
Loftier  walls  and  vaster  floor." 

pKE  many  another  girl  fresh  from  boarding- 
school,  Katharine  marked  out  a  course  of  read- 
ing to  be  pursued  at  home.  It  may  have  been 
her  natural  affinity  with  the  thoughts  of  her 
own  time  and  country  that  guided  her  choice  of  books  ;  at 
all  events  it  was  her  father's  case  of  New  England  authors 
that  exhibited  the  tell-tale  vacancies.  The  Doctor's  quietly 
observant  eye  traced  his  daughter's  onward  steps  by  the 
succeeding  empty  spaces  in  his  shelves. 

An  early  riser  in  the  summer  mornings,  Katharine  se- 
cured a  quiet  time  for  reading  before  breakfast.  During 
these  fresh  first  hours  of  the  day  she  studied  her  Emer- 
son with  the  devotion  of  a  saint,  opening  her  vigorous 
young  mind  to  his  heroic  philosophy,  and  tingeing  it  with 
an  enthusiasm  all  her  own.  Emerson's  sublime  indiffer- 
ence to  the  magnificence  and  display  of  the  world,  his 
steadfast  belief  in  greatness  of  soul  and  in  personal  charac- 
ter and  power,  thrilled  her.  It  dawned  upon  her  that  right 


WIDENING    VISTAS.  43 

here  in  Milwaukee  might  be  found  the  best  that  the  world 
could  give ;  that  the  most  valuable  things  are  the  natural, 
the  simple,  the  universal. 

"The  sun,  the  heavens,  and  God, 
What  nobler  than  these  three?" 

Plain  characteristics  such  as  honesty  and  industry  shone 
with  new  lustre  as  she  discovered  in  them  the  bands  that 
rivet  domestic  and  national  prosperity ;  more  apparent  to 
her  became  the  unalterable  connection  between  sowing 
and  reaping ;  firmer  grew  her  faith  that  in  her  own  hands 
lay  her  own  destiny.  As  iron  is  taken  into  the  blood,  her 
mind  assimilated  these  invigorating  beliefs.  She  began  to 
discriminate  between  the  essential  and  the  accidental,  the 
transient  and  the  permanent. 

This  same  philosophy  might  have  been  gleaned,  the  same 
inspiration  gathered,  from  another  source.  Long  ago  in 
Sunday-school  Katharine  had  learned  "  by  heart "  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount.  For  years  on  Sunday  she  had 
listened  to  sermons  on  things  temporal  and  things  eternal, 
and  had  been  told  that  all  things  were  possible  to  them 
that  believed ;  and,  like  all  good  girls,  she  read  her  Bible. 
But  accepted  as  religious  truths,  these  things  had  been  set 
apart  as  something  sacred,  belonging  to  the  spiritual  life, 
the  silver  rounds  of  a  ladder  leading  away  from  earth  to 
heaven,  rather  than  considered  as  vital  forces  in  the  life 
that  now  is. 

As  no  one  before,  Emerson  opened  her  eyes,  not  only 
to  the  simple  truth  and  beauty,  but  to  the  practical  every- 
day usefulness,  of  the  principles  of  the  Christian  religion. 
She  perceived  in  Christianity  pre-eminently  a  method  of 
life,  not  merely  a  system  by  which  happiness  here  or  here- 
after is  secured.  She  learned  to  believe  in  the  union  of 
the  divine  with  the  human  in  every  man  and  woman,  to 


44  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

reverence  human  nature,  and  to  have  faith  in  more  than 
was  apparent  in  the  most  commonplace  individuals.  This 
influence  was  evident  in  a  certain  elevation  of  thought  re- 
cognized by  Katharine's  friends;  but  she  quoted  neither 
Scripture  nor  philosophy. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  Margaret  Fuller  began  to  trouble 
the  waters  of  this  Western  girl's  soul,  firing  her  with  intellect- 
ual ambition  and  energy,  and  indicating  new  worlds  to  be 
conquered.  And  it  was  Thoreau  who  was  the  companion  of 
Katharine's  thoughts  when  her  walks  led  her  away  from  the 
lake  and  into  the  woods,  as  she  learned  to  look  for  beauty 
and  to  find  it  in  every  phase  and  expression  of  Nature. 

Mrs.  Kennard  did  not  care  for  New  England  literature, 
and  the  Concord  circle  was  ruled  out  whenever  mother  and 
daughter  read  together,  as  they  often  did. 

Books  of  travel  that  awakened  reminiscences  of  Mrs. 
Kennard's  stay  in  Europe  gave  her  unfailing  pleasure,  and 
they  led,  of  course,  into  many  incidental  studies  in  art. 
It  was  in  this  connection  that  Mrs.  Kennard  brought  out 
her  husband's  love-letters,  written  during  the  period  of  her 
absence  in  Europe.  These  precious  epistles  were  wrapped 
in  silver  paper,  tied  with  blue  ribbon  in  a  true-lover's 
knot,  and  when  unfolded  they  exhaled  a  faint  odor  of 
English  violets.  Mrs.  Kennard  read  them  aloud, —  a  some- 
what tantalizing  process  to  her  listener,  as  the  mother 
conscientiously  skipped  what  Katharine  called  the  most 
interesting  parts.  Katharine  knew  how  fascinating  those 
passages  were  by  the  way  her  mother's  dimples  appeared 
and  lingered,  and  the  soft  light  that  came  into  her  face  as 
she  silently  perused  long  paragraphs ;  and  never  a  begin- 
ning nor  an  ending  to  one  letter  did  the  daughter  hear. 

For  that  sort  of  thing  Katharine  was  forced  to  turn 
to  novels  and  romances,  where  she  was  taken  into  the 
confidence  of  all  the  prominent  actors.  She  had  her  own 


WIDENING   VISTAS.  45 

preferences  among  them ;  her  heart  did  not  respond  to 
the  joys  or  woes  of  all.  Shirley  was  one  of  her  favorite 
heroines  ;  she  delighted  in  the  courage,  independence,  and 
spirit  of  the  Yorkshire  girl.  Katharine  read  rather  slowly, 
and  in  complete  oblivion  to  all  surroundings. 

Many  a  long  hour  of  enchantment  she  passed  in  Rome 
with  the  Marble  Faun  people ;  and  her  heart  yearned  to- 
wards Miriam  when  deserted  by  Hilda.  She  felt  herself  in 
Rome,  too,  when  her  eyes  grew  misty  over  the  pathetic 
little  story  of  Tolla. 

Far  away  into  old  Egypt  she  wandered,  and  entered  with 
intense  interest  and  sympathy  into  the  tragic  history  of 
Hypatia ;  but  she  rose  to  the  surface  again,  and  breathed 
the  air  of  every-day  life  with  Jane  Austen's  commonplace, 
natural  English  people.  To  her  George  Eliot  was  supreme 
in  the  realm  of  novelists,  and  Romola  the  ideal  woman 
in  fiction  ;  though  Maggie  Tulliver,  with  all  her  endearing 
impulses  and  weaknesses,  was  most  beloved.  However, 
Katharine  did  not  live  by  books  alone,  or  depend  upon 
imaginary  people  for  companionship.  ' 

Mrs.  Kennard  introduced  her  daughter  into  society  with 
a  brilliant  lawn-party  during  the  full  moon  of  August ;  and 
before  the  first  snow  had  fallen,  Katharine's  social  relations 
were  becoming  definite.  She  was  indispensable  in  any 
entertainment  given  for  the  soldiers,  and  the  adored  teacher 
of  a  flourishing  class  in  Sunday  -  school ;  parties  were  a 
source  of  delight  without  alloy ;  old  acquaintances  were 
renewed,  and  new  ones  formed.  No  one  quite  filled  the 
place  of  Elsie  Brentano  in  Katharine's  affections ;  but  Mrs. 
Vandyne  was  still  devoted  to  hospital  work,  and  had  not 
been  seen  in  Milwaukee  since,  as  a  bride,  she  left  the  city. 
Katharine  had  ardently  desired  to  join  her  friend  in  hospital 
work  for  one  year  at  least,  but  Mrs.  Kennard  would  not 
listen  to  that  proposition  for  a  moment.  Like  most  fond 


46 


HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 


mothers,  she  believed  it  her  duty  and  within  her  power  to 
protect  her  darling  from  all  danger.  Her  sensitive,  sympa- 
thetic, highly  organized  daughter  must  never  know  what 
suffering  this  world  contained ;  she  must  be  guided  only 
through  green  pastures  and  beside  still  waters. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


"  WILL  YOU  WALK  INTO   MY  PARLOR  ? 


URING  Katharine's  absence  in  New  York  a 
young  lady  from  the  west  side  of  Milwaukee 
had  come  into  the  neighborhood  of  the  Ken- 
nards,  and  taken  the  position  of  organist  in  St. 
Mark's  church,  where  the  Doctor's  family  attended  service. 
Had  Miss  Dora  Crissfield  practised  medicine  instead  of 
playing  the  organ  and  teaching  music,  she  would  inevitably 
have  been  socially  filed  and  docketed  among  the  strong- 
minded.  Her  choice  of  a  feminine  occupation  saved  her 
from  that  doom. 

She  was  tall  and  broad-shouldered ;  her  elastic  hands 
seemed  to  spread  out  all  over  the  organ ;  her  carriage  was 
erect,  her  movements  free,  every  gesture  indicating  self- 
reliance  and  decision.  Her  style  of  dress  in  dark,  heavy 
fabrics,  fashioned  with  severe  simplicity,  emphasized  her 
somewhat  masculine  appearance. 

Her  skin  was  smooth  and  dark.  Heavy  dark  brown  hair 
growing  low  on  the  forehead  was  brushed  straight  back 
from  her  face.  A  frank  and  fearless  spirit  looked  out  from 
clear  eyes  of  a  nondescript  color  beneath  straight,  dark  eye- 
brows. Her  nose  was  handsome  ;  her  rather  large,  expres- 
sive mouth  opened  wide  when  she  spoke,  and  disclosed  a 


48  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

row  of  strong,  white,  even  teeth.  A  full,  finely  modulated 
voice  was  perhaps  her  greatest  attraction.  Miss  Crissfield 
was  a  successful  teacher,  and  at  seven  and  twenty  was  sat- 
isfactorily solving  her  section  of  the  problem  of  woman's 
independence.  Her  private  parlor,  the  second-floor  front- 
room  in  the  house  where  she  boarded,  was  a  delightful, 
home-like  apartment,  and  the  bay  window  commanded  an 
attractive  view  up  the  street  and  out  upon  the  lake. 

On  a  certain  Sunday  afternoon  early  in  November  a 
young  man  sat  beside  Miss  Crissfield  on  a  low  seat  that 
lined  the  interior  of  the  window. 

"Is  it  possible  you  have  not  met  Miss  Kennard?"  the 
young  lady  was  asking. 

"  I  may  have  met  her  and  forgotten  her ;  I  don't  profess 
to  remember  half  the  girls  I  meet.  But  you  must  recollect 
I  do  not  go  to  church,  as  she  perhaps  does ;  neither  do  I 
patronize  the  military  entertainments,  in  which  young  ladies 
are  conspicuous  attractions ;  and  I  have  attended  no  parties 
this  winter.  But  what  is  this  young  lady  like  ?  Give  me  a 
description." 

"  Yours  to  command,"  replied  his  companion ;  "  but  I 
don't  spoil  a  friend's  chance  of  making  a  good  impression 
by  descanting  beforehand  upon  her  charms  and  virtues." 

"  You  leave  me  to  infer  that  she  is  charming  and  virtu- 
ous. She  is  not,  then,  a  rank  abolitionist,  for  they  are  never 
charming ;  and  perhaps  she  does  not  sing  war-songs.  Is 
she  an  accomplished  coquette  ?  " 

"  Nothing  of  that  sort ;  and  don't  you  dare  attempt  a  flir- 
tation with  her." 

"  Forbidden  pleasures  are  invariably  tempting,  Dora.  Is 
she  literary?" 

"  Not  oppressively  so." 

"  The  usual  American  superficial  culture,  I  conclude.  Is 
she  one  of  your  saints?  " 


"WILL    YOU   WALK  INTO  MY  PARLOR?"        49 

"  One  of  my  saints !  I'd  like  you  to  define  what  you 
mean  by  '  one  of  my  saints.'  But  I  will  tell  you  that  Kath- 
arine is  good,  —  not  pious,  you  know ;  I  believe  I  have  more 
affection  for  the  real  sinners  than  the  pious.  Katharine's 
religion  is  the  kind  that  makes  girls  lovable.  She  does  n't 
keep  her  golden  rule  shut  up  in  her  prayer-book  six  days 
in  the  week,  to  be  taken  out  and  aired  on  a  Sunday  and 
then  put  back  again  for  safety;  she  carries  it  with  her 
always.  She  uses  her  spiritual  graces  as  if  they  were  natural 
gifts,  —  in  the  same  inadvertent  way  as  you,  for  instance, 
exercise  your  natural  depravity." 

Joe  Irvington  looked  a  little  amused  as  he  fondly  stroked 
his  mustache,  which  was  very  blond  and  very  silky. 

"  Is  it  natural  or  acquired  depravity,  Dora,  that  makes 
you  invariably  hard  on  me?"  he  asked. 

"  A  little  of  both,  I  suspect.  Some  way,  I  always  do  feel 
tempted  to  say  teasing  things  to  you ;  "  but  the  glance  that 
she  gave  him  was  tempered  with  a  touch  of  gracious, 
motherly  indulgence. 

" '  Who  loves  teases,"  you  know,"  he  quoted  with  a 
glance  of  quiet  audacity. 

"  No  nonsense  with  me,  if  you  please  ;  "  and  Miss  Criss- 
field  looked  out  of  the  window  with  an  unmistakable  change 
of  expression. 

"  I  will  be  good,"  promised  Mr.  Irvington,  "if  you  will 
resume  your  subject.  You  have  not  yet  told  me  if  Miss 
Kennard  has  beauty." 

"You  and  I  would  never  agree  as  to  what  constitutes 
beauty." 

"  Is  she  a  belle  in  society  ?  This  is  positively  the  conclu- 
sion of  my  catechism." 

Dora  paused  a  moment  to  consider  that  question  before 
replying.  "  No,  not  in  the  usual  acceptation  of  the  phrase. 
She  seems  rather  to  prefer  ladies  to  gentlemen.  I  've  seen 

4 


5O  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

her  at  a  party  go  right  up  to  a  group  of  wallflowers  in  her 
bright,  unconscious  way,  and  in  ten  minutes  she  will  have 
them  all  talking,  and  so  enlivened  that  the  young  men  are 
glad  to  join  them ;  and  then,  likely  as  not,  Katharine  will 
quietly  move  off  with  the  very  shyest  and  stiffest  of  the  mas- 
culine reinforcement.  In  fact,  bright  as  she  is,  she  never 
seems  to  discover  how  insufferably  dull  stupid  people  are." 

"  You  have  sketched  a  sort  of  social  missionary,  Dora. 
I  think  I  prefer  a  woman  of  your  style." 

"Wait  and  see,"  concluded  Dora.  "I  shall  be  interested 
in  what  you  will  have  to  say  of  Katharine  after  your  ac- 
quaintance commences.  Here  she  comes,  with  the  Ger- 
man violinist  whom  she  promised  to  bring  with  her.  The 
Kennards  do  not  object  to  music  on  Sundays.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Edwards  are  coming  in  from  the  next  room  to  pre- 
serve the  proprieties ;  I  '11  see  that  you  have  an  opportunity 
to  study  Miss  Kennard." 

Where  Dora  Crissfield  was  presiding  genius,  constraint 
and  formality  were  strangers.  Within  ten  minutes  her 
guests  were  all  congenially  adjusted.  Mrs.  Edwards  was 
settled,  to  her  satisfaction,  in  a  comfortable  arm-chair,  with 
an  entertaining  novel ;  in  the  bay  window  the  young  hos- 
tess carried  on  a  light,  desultory  conversation  with  Mr. 
Edwards ;  and  Irvington,  near  them,  joined  in  the  talk,  or 
was  a  silent  listener  and  observer,  as  inclination  prompted. 
Miss  Kennard  and  the  violinist,  playing  together  one  of 
Mendelssohn's  concertos,  were  conscious  of  nothing  beyond 
the  music  in  which  they  were  completely  absorbed.  When 
the  duet  was  ended,  in  answer  to  an  entreaty  from  Mr. 
Voss,  Katharine  continued  playing,  without  noticing  that  all 
conversation  gradually  ceased.  Sometimes  the  soft,  caress- 
ing movement  of  her  fingers  drew  tenderest  response  from 
the  full-toned  piano,  as  if  the  soul  within  the  instrument 
had  found  expression ;  then  again  her  clinging,  magnetic 


"WILL    YOU  WALK  INTO  MY  PARLOR?'1''        51 

touch  fused  composer,  instrument,  and  player,  and  the 
music  seemed  drawn  out  of  the  girl's  heart,  to  find  its  way 
directly  to  the  hearts  of  her  listeners.  She  did  not  render 
music  like  that  without  being  herself  deeply  moved. 

Mr.  Voss  stood  watching  her,  his  whole  face  radiant  with 
enjoyment. 

"  Are  such  musicians  often  found  among  American 
players?"  he  asked  Katharine  when  the  music  ceased. 

"  Why,  how  do  the  German  ladies  play  ?  "  she  questioned 
-in  reply. 

"  They  put  years  of  work  into  their  music,  they  develop 
a  good  technique,  but  often  they  lack  inspiration;  they 
just  miss  the  ineffable  essence.  I  have  heard  other  Amer- 
ican ladies  deficient  in  the  thorough  training  evident  in 
your  performance,  but  yet  their  music  was  delightful,  in  a 
way  that  disarms  criticism;  the  execution  might  be  un- 
skilful, but  the  whole  effect  was  suggestive,  poetical,  fas- 
cinating, like  a  sketch  in  drawing.  It  is  the  character  of 
the  composition  that  is  conveyed  to  the  mind,  regardless  of 
detail.  They  give  one  the  thought  of  the  composer,  and 
do  not  mind  a  few  false  notes  dropped  by  the  way." 

"That  is  just  what  is  the  matter  with  my  exasperating 
pupils,  they  don't  mind  a  few  false  notes  dropped  by  the 
way,"  interrupted  Miss  Crissfield.  "  Mr.  Irvington  accuses 
the  whole  race  of  American  women  of  being  superficial ; 
and  I  am  afraid  we  are  lacking  in  the  staple  qualities  of 
patience  and  perseverance." 

"  Your  varied  accomplishments  would  amaze  your  Ger- 
man sisters ;  you  are  so  independent,  so  widely  informed, 
familiar  with  science,  philosophy,  and  politics  like  men ; 
writing  for  the  papers  and  expressing  convictions  on  all 
conceivable  subjects ;  dressing  so  beautifully,  as  if  you  had 
just  stepped  out  of  pictures, — for  you  are  as  artistic  in 
your  tastes  as  you  are  indomitable  in  your  energies." 


52  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

Mr.  Voss  gave  this  brief  eulogy  on  the  American  woman 
with  refreshing  enthusiasm. 

"  And  yet,"  said  Katharine,  "  complimentary  as  you  are, 
I  see  in  your  eyes  a  little  reservation." 

"  That  is  your  American  penetration.  I  will  confess  that 
I  was  wondering  if  one  could  find  many  Dorotheas  among 
you,  —  many  girls  as  true  and  tender  and  womanly,  with 
so  much  of  simplicity  and  courage." 

"  How  would  our  Evangeline  compare  with  Dorothea  ? 
We  can  scarcely  call  Evangeline  a  typical  American  girl ; 
but  you  too  have  selected  a  poet's  ideal,"  suggested 
Katharine. 

"  Evangeline  is  a  fair  comparison,"  was  the  ready  ac- 
quiescence, "  and  she  was  a  true-hearted,  noble  woman ;  but 
not  a  child  of  Nature  like  Dorothea.  Had  Evangeline 
gone  to  Boston  she  would  have  been  interested  in  its 
museums  and  libraries,  —  she  might  have  become  a  trans- 
cendentalist ;  but  Dorothea  would  have  gone  through  the 
streets  of  Boston  untouched  by  its  complex  civilization. 
She  might  have  wondered  why  the  women  wore  such  a  look 
of  care  and  responsibility ;  but  she  would  have  said  of  the 
libraries  and  museums  :  *  Ah,  yes  !  we  have  still  larger  ones 
in  German  cities ;  they  are  for  the  students  and  artists.' " 

"  Perhaps  we  are  both  thinking  of  the  face  in  the  fa- 
miliar engraving  of  Evangeline,  rather  than  of  the  poet's 
conception,"  added  Katharine. 

"  And  when  you  take  a  Mrs.  Voss  to  sit  by  your  fireside 
you  will  be  content  only  with  a  Dorothea,  we  conclude," 
interposed  Mrs.  Edwards,  glancing  up  from  her  novel  to 
Mr.  Voss.  She  had  contrived  all  along  to  follow  the  thread 
of  her  story,  hear  the  music,  and  keep  trace  of  the  con- 
versation. 

"  That  would  be  like  water  after  wine,"  was  Irvington's 
comment  in  an  undertone. 


"  WILL    YOU  WALK  INTO  MY  PARLOR?"        53 

"  Do  say  something  original,  Joe,"  murmured  Dora  in  an 
aside. 

"  I  am  studying  Miss  Kennard.  I  can't  determine 
whether  or  not  she  is  pretty :  her  face  is  always  changing 
so  that  it  defies  analysis ;  but  she  is  fine-grained,  is  n't  she, 
with  those  hands  and  feet  and  hair  ?  " 

"  Sh-h-h  !  how  dare  you  !    But '  those  hair  '  are  beautiful." 

"Well,  you  engage  the  violinist's  attention,  and  I  will 
continue  the  conversation  on  Goethe's  characters  with 
Miss  Kennard." 

"  At  your  peril !  she  detests  Goethe." 

The  young  man  crossed  over  to  Katharine  as  Miss  Criss- 
field  addressed  a  remark  to  the  violinist,  and  the  change  of 
combination  was  effected. 

"  You  seemed  to  enjoy  Mr.  Voss's  playing  very  much," 
began  Irvington. 

"Yes,  indeed;  wasn't  it  delicious?  I  always  enjoy  a 
violin  doubly  when  accompanying  it  with  the  piano.  Mr. 
Voss  is  very  entertaining  in  conversation  also.  He  has 
been  in  America  for  two  years,  and  has  lived  in  England ; 
but  I  fancy  that  he  has  seen  more  of  men  than  of  women, 
—  at  least  he  apparently  regards  our  ladies  as  novel  and 
interesting  specimens  of  humanity." 

"  Perhaps  he  finds  every  lady  novel  and  interesting  in 
herself.  Is  he  not  the  proprietor  of  the  new  music-store 
recently  opened  here?  I  noticed  the  name  Caspar  Voss 
on  the  sign." 

"  Yes,  his  name  must  be  Caspar ;  that  takes  me  back  to 
the  days  of  my  childhood,  and  the  Christmas-stories  trans- 
lated from  the  German,  with  always  a  Karl  or  Caspar  as 
hero.  I  can  see  the  pictures  of  them  now,  —  little  square, 
stubbed  figures,  with  broad,  cherubic  faces.  I  was  always 
fond  of  those  German  children." 

There  was  something  very  winning  in  the  girl's  uncon- 


54  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

scious,  unreserved  manner ;  she  still  sat  on  the  music-stool, 
and  one  hand  lay  white  and  delicate  against  the  dark  case 
of  the  piano.  Her  eyes  rested  upon  the  face  of  her  com- 
panion ;  he  had  already  decided  that  she  possessed  a  charm 
more  attractive  than  beauty. 

Mr.  Irvington  deliberately  levelled  an  incisive,  subtle 
glance  into  Katharine's  eyes,  remarking  at  the  same  time  : 
"  If  Mr.  Voss  heard  your  last  assertion,  he  may  regret  that 
he  is  no  longer  a  German  child." 

The  words  were  nothing,  but  Katharine  flushed  with 
peculiar  embarrassment  and  annoyance ;  however  she  con- 
tinued, to  avoid  a  pause,  — 

"  I  think  it  a  pity  that  the  nice  little  German  boys  ever 
need  grow  up.  The  few  German  and  French  men  of  edu- 
cation whom  I  have  met  I  've  found  delightful  in  their 
exquisite  politeness ;  but  I  have  an  impression  that  not- 
withstanding the  fine  sentiment  suggested  by  their  defer- 
ential manner  to  women,  their  lives  are  —  materialistic." 

Mr.  Irvington  did  not  care  to  resist  the  temptation  to  ask : 
"  Shall  I  infer  that  you  are  not  an  admirer  of  Goethe?  " 

Katharine's  eyes  darkened  as  she  replied  :  "  I  do  not  un- 
derstand how  any  American  woman  can  admire  that  man." 

"You  admit,  nevertheless,  his  transcendent  genius,  his 
princely  nature  ?  " 

"  You  are  severe  on  princes ;  and  genius  is  not  everything. 
I  cannot  forget  his  vanity ;  that  stealthy,  cruel  thing  which 
fastened  its  fangs  on  the  hearts  of  innocent,  loving  women, 
which  found  its  gratification  in  blasting  the  happiness  of 
those  who  trusted  him.  I  have  less  respect  for  the  great 
German  poet  than  for  an  ignorant  shoemaker  who  is  loyal 
in  his  affections." 

The  words  were  accented  by  a  ring  in  the  girl's  voice 
which  stirred  Irvington's  admiration. 

"  I  perceive  that  you  are  a  young  lady  of  independent 


"WILL    YOU  WALK  INTO  MY  PARLOR?"         55 

opinions  :  but  are  you  not  a  severe  judge?  A  strain  of  the 
old  Puritan  inflexibility  must  be  coursing  through  your 
veins.  The  New  England  standard  of  life  is  a  Procrustean 
bed  which  stretches  or  lops  off  limbs,  regardless  of  the  pain 
inflicted.  Is  it  not  better  to  take  a  wider  view,  to  be  toler- 
ant, and  not  to  pass  judgment  upon  things  that  must 
remain  wholly  foreign  to  one's  own  experience?  " 

Katharine  had  a  morbid  dread  of  narrowness  in  judg- 
ment, and  accepted  this  arraignment  in  silence ;  notwith- 
standing an  intuitive  repulsion,  she  listened,  interested,  as 
Irvington  proceeded :  "  We  think  our  standpoint  the  only 
standpoint.  Take  our  religion :  we  have  been  taught 
that  the  Christian  is  the  only  true  religion,  and  yet,  back 
from  the  ages  come  to  us  now  other  religions  that  have 
moulded  the  lives  of  more  of  our  race  than  have  ever  heard 
the  word  '  Christian.'  Beside  Christ  stands  Buddha.  Both 
lives  were  sublime ;  both  uttered  words  immortal  because 
forever  true ;  both  inspired  men  to  look  beyond  to-day  into 
eternity.  How  can  you  or  I  say  which  was  the  greater? 
Where  lies  our  right  to  judge  between  them?  " 

Had  the  man  known  Katharine  from  childhood  he  could 
not  more  skilfully  have  aimed  to  make  an  impression  on 
her  mind.  He  entered  where  the  opening  was  all  unguarded. 
He  spoke  slowly,  in  a  low  tone,  and  for  a  moment  the  girl 
beside  him  was  fascinated  and  subdued.  Were  her  old 
views  so  limited  ?  could  the  old  religious  landmarks  be 
indefinitely  extended  ? 

The  light  was  fading,  but  Katharine  saw  as  well  as  felt 
that  Irvington's  eyes  were  in  possession  of  her  face,  and 
she  divined  that  he  was  reading  her  thoughts.  She  resented 
this  intrusion  of  a  stranger ;  involuntarily  she  turned  to  the 
piano  for  refuge,  and  broke  the  momentary  silence  that  had 
fallen  upon  the  room  with  the  opening  strain  of  "  Flee  as 
a  Bird  to  the  Mountain." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

AN  INVOLUNTARY  INCENDIARY. 

|N  the  occasional  meetings  that  succeeded  this 
introduction  there  was  always  something  marked 
in  Irvington's  manner  towards  Miss  Kennard. 
However  light  the  surface  appeared,  Katharine 
was  conscious  of  an  undercurrent,  and  was  never  secure 
from  encountering  the  peculiar,  inexplicable  look  which  at 
once  disturbed  and  held  her.  Very  much  refined  was  the 
original  savage,  predatory  instinct  of  the  man ;  but  it  was 
his  dominant,  unrelenting  characteristic.  He  was  a  young 
lawyer  not  long  in  practice,  but  his  older  colleagues  already 
recognized  the  merciless  grip  with  which  he  seized  any 
chance  victim  who  fell  in  his  way  in  legal  prosecution. 

"  He  is  predestined  to  the  office  of  State  attorney,  and 
will  enjoy  hunting  down  a  criminal  as  a  terrier  hunts  a  rat," 
said  the  old  lawyer  with  whom  he  had  studied. 

"  You  do  not  know  what  mercy  or  humanity  is ;  you 
would  have  made  a  first-class  burglar  or  crook  yourself," 
a  bold  thief  whom  Irvington  had  convicted  contrived  to 
say  as  he  was  taken  past  the  lawyer  on  his  way  to  jail. 

A  Democrat,  with  pro-slavery  bias,  his  sympathy  was 
with  the  South  rather  than  the  North.  He  did  not  con- 
sider the  cause  on  either  side  worth  fighting  about.  This 


AN  INVOLUNTARY  INCENDIARY.  57 

patriotism  was  sheer  nonsense ;  but  as  long  as  war  opened 
a  channel  for  ambition,  men  would  be  found  ready  to  cast 
life  and  fortune  into  the  stream.  He  held  his  doubts  as 
lightly  as  his  beliefs ;  he  was  equally  indifferent  to  Christ 
and  to  Buddha.  All  religions  were  to  him  but  so  many  de- 
lusions, acting  on  humanity  like  positive  forces,  but  still 
mere  phantom  creations  of  the  brain. 

For  years  Mr.  Irvington  and  Miss  Crissfield  had  known 
each  other,  and  had  developed  an  odd  sort  of  intimacy,  an 
informal  camaraderie  absolutely  free  from  anything  border- 
ing on  sentimental  relations.  Miss  Crissfield  saw  his  best 
qualities  and  brought  out  his  best  points,  never  taking  him 
seriously,  and  treating  him  with  an  independence  that  would 
have  surprised  his  mother. 

"  You  never  rasp  a  man's  disposition,  Dora,"  he  said  to 
her  one  day.  And  yet  she  kept  him  within  bounds. 

Once  he  attempted  to  look  at  her  in  the  manner  that  so 
embarrassed  Katharine.  Did  Dora's  eyelids  fall,  and  her 
color  change?  She  simply  opened  wide  her  honest  eyes 
and  steadily  returned  his  gaze,  until  they  both  laughed,  and 
Irvington  himself  colored  and  turned  away.  Neither  of 
them  said  a  word ;  but  it  was  a  little  experiment  that  the 
man  did  not  care  to  repeat. 

At  his  first  meeting  with  Miss  Kennard,  Irvington  was  at- 
tracted and  interested ;  and  he  involuntarily  sought  to  gain 
an  ascendency  over  her,  to  influence  her  thoughts  and  emo- 
tions, without  reflecting  that  the  enterprise  might  involve 
risk  to  himself.  Every  chance  encounter  increased  this 
interest,  and  the  encounters  were  not  always  by  chance. 
The  young  man  fell  into  the  habit  of  thinking  of  her  in 
business  hours.  At  any  time  out  of  the  depths  of  the 
dullest,  driest  law-book  might  appear  a  pair  of  hazel  eyes, 
now  with  a  look  of  alluring  gentleness,  and  again  with  a 
glance  of  half-veiled  coquetry.  Strains  of  music  that  she 


58  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

played  remained  with  him ;  over  and  over  again  he  was 
haunted  by  the  appealing  refrain,  — 

"  Flee  as  a  bird  to  the  mountain." 

One  cold  afternoon,  when  the  holidays  were  approaching, 
Mr.  Irvington  walked  briskly  up  to  St.  Mark's  church,  where 
Miss  Crissfield  had  informed  him  the  young  ladies  of  the 
congregation  were  to  be  employed  in  decorating  the  sanc- 
tuary for  the  Christmas  festival.  A  pungent  odor  of  pine 
and  fir  greeted  the  lawyer  as  he  entered  the  church.  The 
air  was  vibrating  with  the  full  closing  chords  of  the  Christ- 
mas anthem  which  the  organist  was  practising.  The  young 
man  glanced  around  to  survey  the  different  groups  of 
workers  and  to  note  the  individuals  of  whom  they  were 
composed.  As  he  paused,  the  anthem  died  away  in  faint 
reverberations,  through  which  the  voices  of  the  ladies 
emerged.  Miss  Crissfield  turned  from  the  organ  and  gave  a 
broad  smile  of  welcome  to  her  friend  below. 

In  response  he  joined  her  with  the  remark,  "  How  pretty 
the  young  ladies  look  in  their  dark  dresses  and  white  aprons ; 
but  their  animated  vivacity  is  not  in  harmony  with  the  sacred 
edifice  and  the  '  dim,  religious  light.'  " 

"  There  is  one  who  has  no  white  apron,  and  is  silent  as  a 
statue ;  "  but  her  companion's  eyes  had  already  detected 
the  individual  to  whom  she  alluded. 

On  the  summit  of  a  step-ladder  stood  a  slight  figure  in  a 
long,  closely  fitting  dress  of  dark-purple  cashmere.  The 
face,  slightly  turned,  was  raised  towards  a  large  cross  of 
evergreen,  and  one  hand  rested  upon  the  foot  of  the  cross. 
The  graceful  outline,  the  ivory-like  face,  in  contrast  with 
the  deep  rich  color  of  the  drapery,  the  delicate  line  of 
creamy  lace  encircling  throat  and  wrists,  —  every  detail  of 
the  picture  was  taken  into  Joe  Irvington's  heart. 

"  What  an  exquisite  Saint  Katharine  !  "  he  whispered. 


AN  INVOLUNTARY  INCENDIARY.  59 

Just  then  the  figure,  unaware  that  her  movement  destroyed 
a  tableau,  turned,  with  the  prosaic  request,  "  Will  some  one 
be  kind  enough  to  drive  a  nail  for  me  ?  I  can't  make  this 
arbor- vitse  stay  in  place." 

With  a  hasty,  "  Excuse  me,  Dora,"  the  young  man 
deserted  the  organist  for  the  saint,  while  Miss  Crissfield 
retained  her  position,  and  with  a  look  of  quiet  amusement 
observed  the  proceeding ;  and  Katharine  from  her  elevation 
serenely  smiled  on  her  approaching  cavalier. 

"  Am  I  to  come  up  beside  you  ?  "  he  asked,  waiting  at 
the  foot  of  the  ladder. 

"  Yes,  if  you  will.  The  ladder  is  strong,  and  you  can 
stand  on  the  step  below  me ;  I  will  hold  the  fractious  ever- 
green in  position  while  you  fasten  it.  I  am  not  skilled  in 
driving  nails." 

"  But  you  are  skilled  in  the  more  feminine  accomplish- 
ment of  flinging  darts  under  Cupid's  direction,"  he  mur- 
mured. "  I  know  that  by  experience,"  he  added,  as  she 
made  no  reply. 

A  flush  of  color  protested,  but  a  dimple  appeared  in 
forgiveness  of  his  audacity.  But  Katharine  was  for  the  busi- 
ness in  hand,  and  gave  the  young  man  the  hammer  with 
the  caution,  "  Now  please  don't  mistake  my  finger  for  the 
nail." 

"Not  for  the  universe,"  was  his  emphatic  assurance. 
However,  some  movement  jarred  the  ladder,  the  hammer 
swerved,  and  the  full  force  of  the  blow  fell  upon  the  girl's 
finger.  For  a  moment  she  was  blinded  with  pain ;  every- 
thing reeled  around  her,  and  her  figure  swayed  as  if  about 
to  fall. 

"  Hold  her,  Joe  ! "  called  Dora  in  a  startled  voice,  just 
as  the  young  man  threw  his  arm  around  his  companion  and 
Steadied  her  against  himself.  It  was  but  a  moment  before 
Katharine  recovered  her  poise ;  but  her  color  did  not  return, 


6O  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

and  she  did  not  understand  her  own  agitation.  Mr.  Irvington 
seemed  to  have  taken  possession  of  her,  assisting  her  down 
the  ladder  as  if  she  were  his  own ;  and  the  wounded  hand 
was  relinquished  with  evident  reluctance. 

Once  firmly  on  the  floor,  the  young  girl  laughed  lightly  at 
the  accident,  although  the  rapid  discoloration  of  the  finger 
told  its  own  story. 

"  The  question  now  is,  whether  my  finger  was  too  small 
to  be  visible,  or  too  large  to  be  avoided  ?  I  shall  cherish  the 
former  delusion,"  she  said  nervously.  "  But  some  one  must 
fasten  that  piece  of  evergreen,  for  it  dangles  worse  than 
ever;  and  I'm  not  going  to  venture  into  that  perilous 
position  another  time." 

And  then,  with  a  sudden  change  of  resolution,  she  con- 
trolled her  nervousness  and  added :  "  I  believe  that  I  will 
try  it  again.  Come,  Mr.  Irvington,  let  us  retrieve  our 
failure." 

"  Don't  trust  Mr.  Irvington  another  time ;  he  is  neither 
mechanic  nor  Churchman,"  interposed  an  orthodox  voice ; 
but  the  warning  was  unheeded. 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  Irvington  could  control  his 
voice  to  speak  in  a  natural  tone.  His  keen  chagrin  over 
the  blunder,  mingled  with  sympathy  for  the  pain  given 
Katharine,  was  sufficient  to  disturb  him  deeply ;  but  in 
addition,  the  fleeting  moment  when  his  arm  was  around 
her,  and  his  face  was  touched  by  her  silken  hair,  —  this 
sudden  personal  contact  enthralled  his  senses,  quickened 
every  pulse,  and  sent  the  blood  rushing  tumultuously  through 
every  vein.  And  now  her  proposition  gave  him  a  delicious 
thrill  of  pleasure,  as  he  interpreted  her  simple  words  into  a 
pledge  of  her  confidence  in  him. 

Nothing  was  farther  from  her  thoughts.  Her  finger 
pained  her  acutely ;  and  as  she  feared  that  fact  was  evident, 
this  move  was  merely  a  little  stratagem  to  divert  attention. 


INVOLUNTARY  INCENDIARY.  6 1 

The  next  operation,  left-handed  on  Katharine's  part,  was  a 
success,  at  once  securing  the  perverse  arbor-vitae,  and  dis- 
pelling the  remembrance  of  the  mis-directed  blow  from  the 
minds  of  all  but  the  two  directly  concerned,  and  Miss 
Crissfield,  who  understood  Katharine. 

However,  the  incident  was  not  so  slight  as  it  appeared, 
for  the  hand  of  Saint  Katharine  had  applied  a  match  to 
tinder.  Mr.  Irvington's  responsibility  for  the  bruised  finger 
justified  him  in  sending  a  basket  of  magnificent  roses  to 
Miss  Kennard  the  next  day,  and  a  cordial  left-handed 
note  returned  thanks  with  perhaps  unnecessary  warmth ; 
but  it  was  written  on  Christmas  Eve,  when  Katharine's 
heart  was  overflowing  with  good-will  towards  men. 

As  the  lawyer  read  this  note  he  no  longer  regretted  his 
blunder  or  the  pain  he  had  given  Katharine  ;  he  smiled  in 
self-congratulation  over  the  long  step  taken  towards  estab- 
lishing an  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  object  of  his  ad- 
miration. The  pretext  afforded  for  delicate  attentions  was 
improved  to  the  utmost.  The  way  was  opened  for  frequent 
and  informal  calls  during  the  convalescence  of  the  injured 
member,  of  whose  complete  recovery  Mr.  Irvington  ex- 
pressed grave  doubts  even  after  a  tender  pink  nail  had 
replaced  the  former  occupant. 


CHAPTER  X. 

PURSUIT. 

| HE  young  lawyer  patronized  a  New  York  tailor, 
and  was  scrupulous  in  details  of  toilet  His 
blond  person  never  failed  to  evince  the  most 
careful  attention ;  and  he  set  a  high  value  upon 
a  patrician  effect  in  his  appearance,  suggested  by  Nature 
and  sedulously  cultivated  by  himself. 

As  a  gentleman  he  was  only  a  well-veneered  article,  but 
he  was  not  aware  of  that  himself;  and  inexperienced  judges 
of  human  nature  usually  took  him  at  his  own  valuation. 
Older  heads  appreciated  his  keen  intelligence  and  recog- 
nized in  him  a  certain  tough  fibre  and  ability  to  command 
success ;  and  though  noticeably  lacking  in  candor,  he  had 
the  reputation  of  being  an  honest  man. 

When  Mr.  Irvington  rented  a  seat  in  St.  Mark's  church 
and  appeared  therein  with  commendable  regularity,  no 
surprise  was  occasioned  in  the  congregation  ;  the  phenom- 
enon was  accepted  as  a  tribute  to  the  talent  and  spiritual 
fervor  of  the  popular  rector.  The  seat  occupied  by  the 
lawyer  was  across  the  aisle,  and  one  line  in  front  of  the 
pew  from  which  Mrs.  Kennard  and  her  daughter  were  rare- 
ly absent.  The  young  man  seldom  faced  the  rector,  but 


PURSUIT.  63 

secured  the  corner  of  the  seat,  and  a  position  somewhat  on 
the  diagonal  in  relation  to  chancel  and  aisle  ;  thus  command- 
ing a  view  of  several  tiers  of  faces  otherwise  out  of  his  range 
of  vision.  Sunday  after  Sunday  he  quietly  carried  on  his 
siege,  and  deliberately  cultivated  his  passion. 

Not  so  marked  in  his  observation  as  to  attract  atten- 
tion or  to  justify  any  resentment  on  the  part  of  Katharine, 
he  yet  contrived  to  keep  her  always  conscious  of  his  pres- 
ence. He  offered  his  admiration  as  most  delicate  incense, 
but  made  it  felt,  nevertheless.  Occasionally,  when  he 
chanced  to  encounter  her  eye,  he  would  send  her  a  swift 
penetrating  glance  laden  with  meaning,  and  would  glean 
his  answer  from  her  rosy  flush  or  the  nervous  movement 
of  her  flexible  lips. 

A  wave  of  genuine,  reverent  tenderness  often  passed  over 
the  man's  heart  as  he  looked  upon  this  young  girl  while  she 
knelt  during  prayers,  with  bowed  head  that  left  only  a  line 
of  white  forehead  bordered  by  gold-brown  hair  visible 
above  her  clasped  hands.  At  such  times  she  seemed 
scarcely  within  his  reach ;  a  vague  uneasiness  at  his  own 
unworthiness  would  disturb  him.  He  almost  wished  for  her 
sake  that  he  were  a  better  man,  better  than  he  thought 
any  man.  He  half  resolved  never  to  attempt  to  under- 
mine her  religious  belief,  even  confessing  that  it  was  an 
added  attraction ;  and  he  admitted  that  the  one  who  said 
"  A  woman  without  faith  is  like  a  flower  without  fragrance  " 
spoke  truly. 

When  she  was  his  own,  he  intended  always  to  be  kind 
to  Katharine,  more  kind  than  he  was  to  his  mother.  Un- 
doubtedly, now  and  then,  he  should  pierce  her  tender 
heart  with  the  stinging  sarcasm  which  was  his  favorite 
weapon,  to  make  her  feel  his  power  over  her,  —  that  sort 
of  thing  was  necessary  with  all  women ;  but  he  should 
be  indulgent,  and  take  good  care  that  she  lost  none  of  the 


64  MS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

happy  light  from  her  eyes,  or  the  bright  animation  from 
her  manner. 

He  found  her  face  a  most  fascinating  study.  He 
wondered  at  the  odd  freak  of  Nature  that  had  given 
that  slightly  tip-tilted  nose  to  a  girl  with  a  strong  affinity 
for  Emerson ;  for  nothing  could  be  more  foreign  to  trans- 
cendentalism than  that  little  piquant,  worldly,  retrousse 
feature,  —  and  yet  it  was  this  same  inconsistent  nose  that 
gave  an  indescribable  charm  to  her  expression. 

He  knew  no  other  woman  so  refined  and  elegant,  so 
gentle,  and  yet  so  spirited.  Few  in  St.  Mark's  congrega- 
tion worshipped  more  fervently  than  did  the  lawyer. 

At  the  close  of  service  he  joined  his  goddess  in  the  aisle, 
and  often  accompanied  her  mother  and  herself  to  their  own 
door.  It  mattered  nothing  to  him  if  it  were  known  that 
he  was  devoted  to  Miss  Kennard.  She  was  a  good  match, 
and  he  meant  to  win  her,  and  he  never  doubted  his  power 
to  achieve  anything  he  willed  to  accomplish.  Mrs.  Ken- 
nard evidently  regarded  him  with  favor,  and  he  early  de- 
cided that  if  a  man  must  have  a  mother-in-law,  a  more 
agreeable  one  than  Mrs.  Kennard  could  not  be  made  to 
order. 

He  was  not  mistaken  in  thinking  that  the  Doctor's  wife 
liked  him.  Mrs.  Kennard  would  have  felt  cordially  to- 
wards any  one  who  expressed  sympathy  with  the  poor 
dear  South.  It  was  such  a  comfort  to  her  to  hear  a  kind 
word  spoken  in  defence  of  her  still-beloved  "  native  land," 
as  she  always  called  it. 

But  for  all  the  apparent  smoothness  of  the  high-way, 
Irvington's  suit  did  not  progress,  as  the  winter  slipped  by, 
altogether  to  his  satisfaction,  although  he  could  not  define 
even  to  himself  what  retarded  his  advance.  If  Miss  Ken- 
nard were  at  home  when  he  called,  she  was  rarely  alone. 
She  might  smile  and  dimple,  and  her  conversation  sparkle 


PURSUIT.  65 

in  the  most  distracting  fashion,  forging  new  links  in  the 
chain  that  held  her  lover  captive ;  but  it  was  all  only  tan- 
talizing when  divided  among  a  half  dozen  or  more.  Irving- 
ton  never  liked  to  feel  himself  but  one  of  many,  and 
Katharine  gave  no  proof  of  recognition  of  any  particular 
claim  on  his  part. 

On  the  other  hand,  when  the  two  chanced  to  be  alone, 
his  influence  over  her  was  unmistakable.  He  could  sway 
her  thoughts  and  kindle  or  subdue  her  animation  at  will, 
cause  her  eyes  to  fall,  and  her  color  to  deepen ;  and  if 
occasionally  she  seemed  to  resent  this  power  and  to  assert 
her  independence,  he  knew  well  how  to  undermine  the 
defences  with  some  gentle  appeal  or  tender  reproach. 
And  yet  there  was  something  in  the  young  girl  that  eluded 
his  grasp ;  he  was  not  certain  that  he  had  touched  the 
key-note  of  her  nature  :  and  therein  lay  half  her  fascination. 
The  first  instinctive  desire  to  assert  his  power  over  a  girl 
who  attracted  him  had  yielded  to  the  simple,  elemental 
desire  to  possess  the  woman  whom  he  loved.  Nor  did 
Katharine  fail  to  influence  her  lover.  Her  candid  nature, 
her  high  ideals,  her  unconscious  unworldliness,  all  produced 
a  temporary  effect.  Whatever  was  base  and  cruel  in  him 
instinctively  refrained  from  contact  with  her,  and  his  whole 
moral  nature  breathed  a  purer  atmosphere  in  her  presence. 

At  times  Katharine  almost  believed  that  she  loved  this 
man.  She  recognized  the  sort  of  understanding  that  he  as- 
sumed to  exist  between  them ;  she  felt,  without  interpreting 
his  unspoken  love.  Now  strongly  attracted,  even  willingly 
yielding  to  his  influence,  again  feeling  that  their  natures 
were  wholly  foreign,  and  could  never  be  brought  into  har- 
mony; now  seeing  only  the  man's  better  nature,  and 
again  repelled  by  a  glimpse  of  the  evil  lurking  within  him, 
the  girl  drifted  on,  little  dreaming  with  what  force  the  cur- 
rent already  claimed  her. 

5 


66  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

When,  one  evening  in  March,  the  crisis  was  developed, 
and  Mr.  Irvington  asked  Katharine  to  become  his  wife,  the 
direct  proposal  threw  a  flash  of  illumination  across  the 
baleful  power  that  had  magnetized  and  entangled  her,  and 
produced  a  violent  recoil.  She  felt  that  she  would  rather 
die  than  yield  herself  to  that  man  ;  and  she  despised  her- 
self that  she  had  allowed  this  offer  of  marriage  to  become 
a  possibility. 

It  was  a  stormy  wooing,  imperious  and  imploring,  tender 
and  reproachful  by  turn.  Below  the  torrent  of  his  passion 
Katharine  felt  the  strength  of  the  man's  determination. 
Love  and  will  had  combined  to  force  her  surrender.  She 
was  terrified  by  this  tempest  of  emotion ;  she  suffered  cruelly 
in  the  misery  she  was  inflicting:  but  stronger  than  fear, 
deeper  than  sympathy,  was  the  intense  aversion  created 
in  herself.  The  excitement  nerved  her  into  an  unnatural 
calm  ;  her  resistance  was  firm,  her  refusal  absolute. 

When  at  last  the  battle  was  over  and  the  victor  alone  in 
her  own  room,  she  was  completely  exhausted,  and  more 
wretched  than  ever  before  in  her  life.  Sleep  was  effect- 
ually banished ;  and  with  the  realization  of  her  own  security 
came  a  more  vivid  appreciation  of  the  suffering  she  had 
caused.  It  was  living,  palpitating  anguish  that  she  had 
seen  in  his  eyes  as  her  lover  turned  from  her  finally,  with 
no  word  of  farewell.  The  remembrance  was  unbearable ; 
for  never  before  had  she  knowingly  or  willingly  inflicted 
pain.  When  morning  broke,  a  deep  sympathy  had  soft- 
ened the  outlines  of  Katharine's  stern  attitude  towards  her 
suitor;  and  when  evening  brought  a  note  from  Mr.  Ir- 
vington, courteous  and  delicate,  begging  pardon  for  the 
unguarded  expressions  he  had  used  in  their  last  interview, 
exonerating  her  from  all  blame,  and  asking  that  their  friend- 
ship might  be  resumed,  and  that  one  episode  forgotten,  — 
what  could  Katharine,  with  her  generous  spirit,  do  but 


PURSUIT.  67 

reply,  that  if  her  friendship  could  make  reparation  for  an 
unintentional  injury,  it  should  be  freely  given. 

Of  all  the  delusions  of  youth,  what  more  subtle  and 
dangerous  than  friendship  after  a  refusal  or  a  broken 
engagement? 


CHAPTER   XI. 


UNREST. 


I  was  midsummer,  and  the  war  was  over. 

One  April  day,  like  a  bed  of  crocus  under 
the  warm  sun,  the  whole  North  had  suddenly 
burst  into  blossom,  flaunting  in  every  breeze 
its  thousands  upon  thousands  of  flags  and  banners  and 
streamers,  its  mile  after  mile  of  festoons  of  the  national 
colors.  Bunting,  flannel,  cambric,  muslin  were  called  into 
service  ;  the  fabric  mattered  little  so  long  as  the  red,  white, 
and  blue  were  displayed. 

Lee  had  surrendered  ;  the  North  was  victorious.  Hearts 
lightened,  eyes  brightened,  in  the  glad  anticipation  of  peace. 
But  while  the  symbols  of  victory  and  rejoicing  were  yet  un- 
faded,  they  were  suddenly  withdrawn ;  and  in  their  places 
drooped  the  dark  emblems  of  mourning.  The  triumphal 
march  was  merged  in  the  requiem.  The  parting  shot  from 
the  Rebellion  had  pierced  the  heart  of  the  North,  and 
struck  from  its  pedestal  the  central  figure  of  the  nation. 
This  great  dramatic  climax  of  the  war  had  passed  into 
history ;  the  apple-blossoms  of  May  had  fallen,  the  roses  of 
June  had  faded,  and  July  came,  bringing  a  scorching  heat 
not  often  felt  in  the  lakeside  city  of  Milwaukee.  It  was 


UNREST.  69 

after  sundown  ;  but  regardless  of  the  hour,  the  mercury  was 
disporting  itself  in  the  region  between  the  eighties  and  the 
nineties,  when  Mrs.  Kennard  came  out  on  her  piazza. 
No  evidence  of  the  high  temperature  could  be  discerned 
in  that  lady's  appearance ;  her  dress  of  snowy  lawn  swept 
in  long,  soft  folds  behind  her  as  she  moved  in  her  usual 
unhurried  manner  •  her  sweet,  dark  face  showed  no  altera- 
tion in  its  ordinary  peachy  tints ;  she  slowly  waved  her 
sandal-wood  fan  to  and  fro,  more  because  she  liked  the 
odor  than  for  the  air  it  stirred.  As  she  paused  a  moment 
to  fan  the  Doctor,  who  leaned  back  in  an  armchair,  pale 
with  heat,  and  perspiring  at  every  pore,  her  glance  fell  upon 
her  daughter.  The  girl  rested  languidly  beside  one  of  the 
pillars  of  the  porch ;  her  eyes  were  clouded  with  a  look 
very  like  trouble,  and  a  faint,  perpendicular  line  appeared 
between  her  eyebrows.  She  looked  away  off  over  the  lake, 
as  if  mutely  questioning  —  Destiny  ? 

"  How  the  heat  wilts  you  two  Northerners  !  Here  am 
I,  just  luxuriating  in  this  delicious  Maryland  weather,  while 
under  my  very  eyes  my  husband  is  melting  away,  and  my 
daughter  fading  into  the  ghost  of  a  girl ;  even  her  smiles 
have  evaporated  under  this  day's  sun." 

"  I  wonder  if  it  can  be  the  weather,  or  what,  that  de- 
presses me  so?  I  don't  feel  at  all  like  myself,"  Katharine 
exclaimed,  rising,  and  moving  restlessly,  as  if  to  escape  from 
her  mother's  observation ;  but  she  tossed  a  reassuring  smile 
back  over  her  shoulder  as  she  wandered  off  down  among 
the  pansies  in  the  garden. 

"  Now  I  have  an  idea,  John,"  said  Mrs.  Kennard,  fixing 
her  soft  brown  eyes  upon  her  husband's  face.  "  I  am  going 
to  send  you  and  Katharine  off;  you  are  to  take  a  trip  up 
to  Lake  Superior,  and  you  are  to  go  right  away.  You 
haven't  a  single  patient  in  a  critical  condition  just  now, 
and  you  can  leave,  if  you  only  think  you  can." 


7O  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

Thus  did  this  amiable  matron  lay  down  the  law  to  her 
well-trained  spouse. 

"  What  a  refreshing  suggestion,  my  dear  ! "  responded  the 
Doctor.  "  But  you  know  I  never  leave  my  wife,  and  that 
hospitable  woman  happens  to  be  riveted  at  home  just  at 
present." 

"  You  have  touched  the  very  reason  why  I  want  you  to 
go  to  Lake  Superior  now;  I  should  never  go  there  with 
you,  to  expect  to  be  drowned  every  minute.  Cousin  Eva 
will  be  here  to  keep  me  company,  and  you  don't  like  Eva 
Benton,  —  you  never  did ;  and  Kathie  does  n't  care  for 
her,  either.  So  this  will  be  what  I  call  a  fortunate  com- 
bination of  separation,  and  you  had  best  seize  your  chance 
before  it  escapes  you." 

"  I  would  rather  look  at  your  eyes  than  at  all  the  pic- 
tured rocks  in  the  world,"  said  the  Doctor,  evading  the 
subject  in  hand. 

Now  Mrs.  Kennard  enjoyed  a  compliment  just  as  much 
at  five-and-forty  as  she  did  at  twenty ;  and  as  the  Doctor 
himself  liked  to  indulge  in  these  little  embroideries  on  do- 
mestic intercourse,  he  had  never  lost  the  habit  of  express- 
ing his  admiration  of  his  wife.  But  Mrs.  Kennard  was  not 
to  be  turned  from  her  purpose. 

"  You  are  a  dear  old  lover,"  she  continued,  "  but  you 
must  remember  that  you  happen  to  be  a  father  also ;  and 
have  n't  you  noticed  that  something  is  the  matter  with 
Katharine  ?  She  positively  mopes,  and  seems  like  another 
girl ;  I  hope  it  is  n't '  concealment '  that  is  '  feeding  on  her 
damask  cheek.'  I  fancy  that  Mr.  Irvington  has  something 
to  do  with  it ;  but  she  has  peculiar  notions  about  discussing 
love  affairs,  and  does  n't  offer  me  her  confidence.  There 
was  some  trouble  last  March,  I  know;  but  that  seems  to 
have  worn  off,  and  he  certainly  has  shown  enough  devotion 
recently.  I  don't  believe  that  you  like  Mr.  Irvington  as 


UNREST.  71 

well  as  I  do?"  queried  the  lady,  poising  her  fan  in  mid-air 
as  she  awaited  a  reply. 

"  Has  he  been  growing  devoted  recently  ?  I  did  not 
know  that.  I  do  distrust  the  man.  I  have  not  interfered 
in  this  affair  because  I  did  not  suppose  that  Katharine  could 
think  of  Mr.  Irvington  as  a  lover ;  but  I  have  noticed  that 
she  seems  worried  and  disturbed  of  late,  and  no  doubt  a 
change  would  do  her  good." 

Just  then  Katharine  returned  within  hearing,  and  gath- 
ered enough  of  the  talk  that  followed  to  infer  what  plan 
was  under  discussion. 

"  Papa,"  she  said,  seating  herself  beside  him,  "  if  you  can 
take  me  off  on  the  lakes  for  a  week  or  two,  I  wish  that  you 
would." 

She  spoke  without  enthusiasm,  but  as  if  she  had  some 
decided  reason  for  wishing  to  go  ;  and  her  words  had  instant 
weight  with  her  father. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

OVER  THE  WAVES  AND  FAR  AWAY. 

IO  be  away  from  Irvington,  far  away  from  every- 
thing associated  with  him,  to  get  outside  of 
herself,  if  possible,  was  the  longing  that  now 
possessed  Katharine  Kennard. 
Once  fairly  out  of  sight  of  Milwaukee,  as  the  propeller 
ploughed  its  way  across  the  undulating  level  of  Lake 
Michigan,  Katharine  could  not  rest  until  her  father  had 
taken  her  up  on  the  hurricane-deck,  and  she  was  perched 
in  one  of  the  little  life-boats  there  secured.  With  the  limit- 
less blue  sky  above  her,  and  the  limitless  plain  of  trembling, 
scintillating  water  around  her,  stretching  far  into  the  dis- 
tance on  every  side,  she  realized  a  delicious  sense  of 
release  and  freedom.  Now  she  should  be  able  to  see 
clearly ;  now  her  old  self-reliance  and  independence  would 
return.  That  restless,  wavering,  impressible  girl  so  fa- 
miliar to  her  consciousness  of  late,  that  incomprehensible 
phase  of  herself,  at  once  feared  and  distrusted,  should  be 
banished. 

The  Doctor,  after  the  manner  of  man,  strolled  off  to  take 
a  look  at  the  pilot-house,  and  fell  into  conversation  with 
the  keen-eyed  old  man  at  the  wheel.  Half  an  hour  elapsed 


OVER    THE    WAVES  AND  FAR  AWAY.  73 

before  Katharine  was  rejoined  by  her  father,  who  imme- 
diately perceived  an  alteration  in  the  girl's  expression. 

"You  seem  to  take  to  the  water  like  an  old  salt,"  he 
remarked. 

"You  mean  like  a  naiad  or  a  mermaid.  How  do 
you  know  but  ages  ago  some  dashing  young  Kennard 
stole  a  pretty  young  naiad  for  his  bride?  And  why 
may  not  I  have  a  touch  of  the  nature  of  that  far-away 
ancestress?  " 

The  Doctor  looked  into  his  daughter's  upturned  face, 
into  the  eyes  lifted  to  his  with  such  confidence  that  he 
would  understand  even  her  nonsense,  then  turned  away 
with  a  puzzled  expression  as  he  replied  :  "  I  have  not  the 
slightest  idea  how  many  varied  natures  or  complex  elements 
are  fused  in  the  one  piece  of  womanhood  that  is  named 
Katharine  Kennard.  A  man  naturally  expects  that  he  is 
going  to  understand  his  own  child,  and  probably  cherishes 
the  belief  that  he  does  understand  her.  But  some  fine  day 
he  is  sure  to  discover  that  she  is  as  much  a  mystery  to  him 
as  are  all  others  of  her  baffling  sex.  Now  I  should  really 
like  to  know  why  a  girl  of  twenty,  with  a  mother  like  yours, 
fails  to  repose  confidence  in  that  mother,  or  to  ask  her 
advice  in  any  worries  or  troubles." 

This  unexpected  attack  brought  a  tide  of  crimson  over 
Katharine's  face. 

"  Perhaps  I  have  been  wrong  in  that ;  but  I  simply 
could  n't.  Nobody  knows  better  than  I  do  how  sweet  and 
lovely  mother  is ;  but  you  know  she  has  all  along  liked 
Mr.  Irvington,  and  rather  favored  his  attentions  to  me.  I 
wanted  something  to  brace  my  resolution  instead  of  weak- 
ening it.  If  you  only  knew  what  a  temptation  it  has  been 
to  me  when  I  've  been  all  worried  and  perplexed,  and 
mother  so  serene  and  sympathetic,  just  to  talk  the  whole 
matter  over  with  her !  But  I  knew  all  the  time  how  she 


74  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

would  hush  my  true  convictions,  and  make  it  all  the  harder 
for  me  in  the  end." 

This  was  very  clear  to  the  Doctor,  who  began  to  have  a 
clew  to  the  actual  state  of  affairs. 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  come  to  rne  ?  You  and  I  have 
always  been  good  friends,  have  n't  we  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  papa !  "  she  said,  and  she  bit  her  lip,  "  I  did 
want  to  go  to  you ;  but  then,  —  don't  you  understand  ?  —  I 
knew  that  you  did  not  like  Mr.  Irvington.  It  seemed  so 
unfair  to  him  that  I  should  put  his  fate  in  your  hands  when 
I  knew  perfectly  well  that  you  have  always  disliked  him. 
I  might  have  told  both  you  and  mother  —  perhaps  that 
would  have  been  best ;  but  it  was  dreadful  enough  to  have 
to  keep  thinking  first  of  one  side  and  then  the  other,  and  I 
could  n't  endure  the  idea  of  having  it  all  talked  over." 

"Then  your  father's  opinion  was  not  to  be  allowed 
weight  in  an  important  matter  of  this  kind  ?  You  preferred 
to  be  quite  independent,  and  to  rely  on  your  own 
judgment?  " 

"  Your  opinion  did  have  weight  with  me ;  it  has  been 
my  blessed  anchor  all  this  time.  You  can't  think  that  I 
would  ever  say  yes  to  him  without  your  approval  ?  It  is  no 
that  I  have  been  saying.  For  some  reason,  Mr.  Irvington 
does  not  seem  to  like  you  altogether,  and  I  felt  that  the 
least  I  could  do  for  a  man  that  I  refused  was  to  conceal 
his  defeat  from  a  man  whom  he  did  not  like,  and  who  did 
not  like  him.  If  I  must  wound  his  affection,  I  could  spare 
his  pride.  Could  you  ask  me  to  do  less?  "  And  two  very 
bright  tears  stood  in  the  girl's  eyes  as  she  asserted  the 
purity  of  her  motive  in  concealment.  Those  shining  tears 
proved  weapon  as  well  as  shield,  and  it  was  the  assailant 
who  surrendered  unconditionally. 

"  Ah,  Katharine,  poor  girl,  you  are  a  brave  and  loyal 
little  soul,  fighting  your  battle  alone  in  order  to  protect 


OVER    THE    WAVES  AND  FAR  AWAY.  75 

your  foe  !  But  it  was  a  risky  experiment.  And  now  I 
want  to  know  if  Mr.  Irvington  is  finally  disposed  of." 

"  Oh  dear  no  !  "  sighed  Katharine ;  "  I  must  refuse  him 
once  more.  But  this  shall  be  the  end." 

Katharine  began  to  realize  how  every  vestige  of  uncer- 
tainty as  to  what  she  would  do  had  disappeared.  Once 
the  subject  was  opened  with  her  father,  it  was  an  inex- 
pressible relief  to  give  him  the  whole  situation;  and 
she  proceeded :  — 

"  You  remember  Mr.  Irvington  was  with  me  when  you 
came  home  last  evening.  But  to  go  back  a  little :  I  re- 
fused him  last  March,  and  I  supposed  that  he  understood 
my  answer  to  be  final.  Then  he  wanted  to  be  friends  with 
me,  and  for  a  time  he  was  very  guarded ;  and  I  really  liked 
him  better  than  before.  That  misled  him,  and  one  evening 
last  month  he  offered  himself  again.  When  I  refused  him 
a  second  time  he  was  very  gentle,  but  he  would  not  accept 
my  decision ;  he  told  me  that  I  did  not  know  myself  half 
as  well  as  he  knew  me,  or  understand  my  own  heart  half 
as  well  as  he  understood  it ;  and  in  answer  to  my  assurance 
that  things  could  never  be  as  he  wished,  he  only  smiled, 
and  said,  '  Little  bird,  there  Js  no  use  in  your  resisting ;  I 
shall  have  you  for  my  own  some  day.' 

"  Those  words  have  just  haunted  me  ;  I  felt  as  if  the  iron 
hand  in  the  velvet  glove  had  seized  me.  Every  time  that 
I  heard  a  bird  sing  I  would  hear  his  voice  saying,  '  Little 
bird,  there  's  no  use  in  your  resisting.'  Since  that  inter- 
view I  have  successfully  avoided  him,  until  last  evening  he 
took  me  quite  unawares.  You  know  how  oppressive  the 
air  was ;  the  doors  were  all  open,  and  I  happened  to  be  at 
the  piano.  I  did  not  hear  the  door-bell :  he  may  have 
thought  I  might  refuse  to  see  him ;  at  all  events,  the  first 
I  knew  there  was  a  rap  of  announcement  on  the  open 
library  door,  and  there  was  Mr.  Irvington.  He  was  very 


76  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

entertaining  at  first,  and  gave  me  an  amusing  account  of 
his  trip  up  to  Lake  Superior  last  year,  and  of  the  odd 
people  on  board  the  steamer.  I  was  soon  laughing,  and 
feeling  quite  at  ease ;  but  the  room  was  very  warm,  and  I 
thought  that  I  heard  mamma  on  the  piazza,  so  I  proposed 
going  out  there. 

"  The  moonlight  was  beautiful ;  but  no  one  was  on  the 
piazza.,  and  I  saw  that  I  had  made  a  false  move.  I  knew 
that  gas-light  was  safer  than  moonlight.  It  wasn't  five 
minutes  before  —  well,  he  did  not  really  say  so  much ; 
it  was  the  way  that  he  said  it.  He  told  me  that  he  was 
waiting  and  hoping,  that  he  cared  for  nothing  else  in  life, 
that  I  was  all  in  all  to  him.  I  knew  that  was  so  ;  and  all 
at  once,  someway,  a  great  wave  of  sympathy  almost  swept 
away  my  resolution,  and  I  hesitated :  I  wondered  if  after 
all  I  did  not  care  for  him,  and  if  I  had  not  been  battling 
with  myself  instead  of  against  him  all  this  time. 

"  He  must  have  perceived  my  faltering,  for  he  spoke  then 
with  new  confidence,  and  said  that  he  believed  I  was  be- 
ginning to  read  my  heart  aright ;  that  he  was  ready  to  leave 
his  fate  in  my  hands,  for  he  knew  I  would  find  that  I  could 
no  more  live  without  him  than  he  could  live  without  me ; 
that  he  wanted  me  to  feel  perfectly  free  while  away  with 
you,  but  when  I  returned  he  should  come  again.  I  dared 
not  trust  myself  with  him  longer,  and  only  said,  '  I  do  not 
want  you  to  come  again ;  it  will  be  useless.  Good-night.' 
But  he  caught  my  hand  and  detained  me  long  enough  to 
whisper,  '  I  shall  live  on  hope  ;  you  will  learn  to  read  your 
heart  aright.'  And  then,  before  I  could  protest,  he  was 
gone. 

"  Now  to-morrow  I  am  going  to  write  to  him  and  tell  him 
that  I  have  learned  to  read  my  heart  aright,  and  that  I 
find  it  contains  no  longer  even  friendship  for  him.  I  never 
will  see  him  alone  again." 


OVER    THE    WAVES  AND  FAR  AWAY.  "JJ 

As  the  Doctor  listened  to  this  revelation  he  realized  far 
more  than  Katharine  did  what  danger  she  had  passed 
through. 

"You  have  been  playing  with  fire,"  he  said.  "  Irvington 
is  no  man  for  a  girl  like  you  to  deal  with.  He  has  a  ter- 
rible will,  and  no  doubt  can  be  wily  as  Satan.  Write  your 
letter  as  you  propose.  I  should  write  in  your  place,  except 
that  Mr.  Irvington  had  best  know  that  it  is  your  own  de- 
cision. Then  you  must  leave  the  matter  in  my  hands; 
I  shall  see  that  this  affair  is  ended." 

The  letter  mailed  at  Mackinac  was  brief  and  uncom- 
promising. Its  spirit  was  that  of  Katharine's  New  England 
grandmother.  It  shot  like  a  poisoned  arrow  through  the 
heart  of  Irvington,  embittering  all  his  affections  and  stinging 
into  cruel  activity  his  baser  nature. 

By  the  time  the  letter  had  started  upon  its  fateful  mis- 
sion the  "  Montgomery  "  had  passed  through  the  Straits  of 
Mackinac,  skirted  the  northwestern  end  of  Lake  Huron, 
turned  northward  through  St.  Mary's  River,  and  entered 
upon  the  vast  and  beautiful  waters  of  Lake  Superior. 
Down,  down,  down,  through  the  transparent  waving  eme- 
rald one  could  clearly  trace  the  pebbles  on  the  sands 
below.  Distance  in  that  wonderful  atmosphere  was  like 
distance  in  that  water,  to  be  in  no  way  calculated  by  the 
inexperienced.  Points  and  objects  on  shore  apparently 
just  beyond,  proved  to  be  miles  away,  receding  as  the 
steamer  advanced,  illusive  as  the  "  Isle  of  O'Brazil." 

But  the  enchantment  that  seemed  ever  to  bring  the 
distant  near,  acted  inversely  with  relation  to  Katharine's 
recent  experiences.  Where  were  the  emotions  and  agi- 
tations of  three  days  ago?  Already  they  seemed  years 
back  in  the  past.  These  magical  waters  and  azure  skies, 
this  little  company  of  new  acquaintances,  were  the  realities 
of  to-day.  And  how  soon  they  had  all  become  familiar ! 


78  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

Even  the  Indians  who  appeared  at  every  landing,  bringing 
their  little  square  birch  boxes  of  raspberries  or  big  bunches 
of  winter-green,  were  hailed  as  friends  and  brothers. 

Dr.  Kennard  early  opened  acquaintance  with  the  young- 
est passenger.  When  advances  were  made  in  the  form  of 
a  request  that  the  mother  should  lend  him  her  child,  the  lady 
first  enveloped  the  infant  in  one  of  those  absurdly  fond 
looks,  in  the  possessive  case,  which  mothers  are  prone  to 
bestow  upon  their  first  offspring,  then  gave  the  Doctor  a 
swift  glance  of  inspection,  then  warily  demanded,  — 

"What  do  you  wish  to  do  with  her?" 

"  I  wish  to  entertain  her,  if  she  will  allow  me."  Words 
and  manner  so  deferential  and  conciliatory  won  the  confi- 
dence of  mamma ;  and  as  Miss  Baby  offered  a  smile  and 
two  plump  little  hands,  she  was  relinquished  to  the  stranger. 
Thereafter  all  who  came  on  board  mistook  the  Doctor  for 
baby's  papa ;  the  genuine  parent  contributing  to  the  illu- 
sion by  an  unconquerable  tendency  to  sea-sickness. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  TRANSPLANTED  BOSTONIAN. 

j]ATURE  can 't  disguise  me  by  calling  me  Smith ; 
but  I  suppose  I  must  not  hold  Nature  re- 
sponsible for  my  married  name,  —  except  in 
allowing  me  to  fall  in  love  with  Jim.  Fancy 
an  Elinor  Beverly  degenerating  through  matrimony  into  an 
Ella  Smith  !  And  my  husband  will  call  me  Ella ;  it 's  a 
striking  instance  of  the  descent  of  woman." 

Such  was  the  outburst  of  confidence  made  to  Miss  Ken- 
nard  within  the  first  fifteen  minutes  of  her  acquaintance 
with  the  lady  who  was  early  recognized  as  the  social  star 
on  board  the  "  Montgomery."  Petite,  an  animated  fashion 
plate  in  costume,  with  a  dramatic  manner,  with  velvety 
black  eyes  and  warm  olive  complexion,  a  very  Creole  to  all 
appearance,  Mrs.  Smith  was  yet  in  fact  a  Bostonian  by  birth 
and  education. 

One  shy,  round-shouldered,  faded-looking  young  man, 
who  screened  his  diffidence  by  silence,  watched  Mrs.  Smith 
by  the  hour.  With  head  inclined  to  one  side  he  would 
hold  up  an  ear  to  catch  her  chance  words,  while  an  uncon- 
scious smile  gradually  overspread  his  face.  When  Mrs. 
Smith  once  addressed  him  directly,  his  smile  tightened 


80  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

into  a  convulsive  grin,  and  a  painful  blush  suffused  his 
countenance  as  he  stammered  an  incoherent  reply. 

"  He  reminds  me  of  the  classic,  but  time-worn,  '  friend, 
Roman,  and  countryman '  lending  an  ear,"  remarked  the 
object  of  this  auditory  effort. 

Honored  with  a  seat  at  the  right  hand  of  the  captain,  the 
little  lady  entertained  those  at  her  end  of  the  table  with  off- 
hand sketches  of  her  housekeeping  experiences  in  Iowa. 
The  captain,  whose  appreciation  of  Mrs.  Smith's  conver- 
sational efforts  was  summed  up  in  the  single  comment, 
"  She 's  as  good  as  a  circus  any  day,"  relished  with  double 
zest  descriptions  in  which  she  was  the  central  figure, 
as  she  touched  herself  off  with  an  airy  abandon  reserved 
only  for  personal  application.  Mrs.  Smith  declared  that 
her  married  life  in  Western  wilds  had  been  a  succession  of 
domestic  tragedies,  going  on  to  explain,  "  First,  the  cook 
left,  and  I  had  to  seize  the  culinary  helm  in  order  to  save 
us  from  starvation.  Of  all  uncertain  things  in  this  life, 
commend  me  to  cooking !  Ah !  Captain  Nicholson,  my 
cake  would  have  wrung  tears  from  your  eyes.  Actually, 
when  I  took  it  from  the  oven  and  looked  down  into  the 
depths  of  the  pan,  it  was  like  looking  into  a  grave,  —  the 
grave  of  blighted  hopes.  I  told  Jim  so,  and  his  hollow 
laugh  but  mocked  my  misery.  Then  he  tried  to  console 
me  by  saying  that  though  it  was  a  lost  cause  as  cake,  it 
would  answer  as  a  pudding,  —  and  it  did ;  and  for  blighted 
hopes  it  was  n't  so  bad,  after  all.  I  never  knew  what  was 
the  matter  with  the  thing :  Jim  said  it  lacked  flour ;  but 
what  does  a  man  know  of  cooking?" 

Here  the  one  super-serious  and  dignified  member  of  the 
party,  a  Methodist  judge,  demanded :  "  Madam,  are  you 
not  aware  that  the  finest  cooks  in  the  world  are  men?  " 

Mrs.  Smith  returned  a  brief  look  of  blank  inquiry  ;  then 
gayly  conceded :  "  Oh  !  you  mean  Frenchmen.  I  don't 


A    TRANSPLANTED  BOSTONIAN.  8 1 

call  them  men.  You  surely  can't  expect  me  to  call  frivo- 
lous, weak-minded  cooks,  dressmakers,  and  milliners  men, 
—  not  in  any  broad  sense  of  the  term?" 

She  had  uttered  the  word  "  broad  "  with  most  expansive 
accent ;  then,  looking  solemnly  up  at  the  judge,  she  de- 
veloped her  climax  to  the  dignity  of  man  by  slowly  adding : 
"  Not  men  as  you  call  yourself  a  man,  Judge?  " 

As  the  dignitary  so  addressed  preserved  a  discouraging 
and  slightly  chilling  silence,  Mrs.  Smith  turned  nonchalantly 
away  and  sweetly  smiled  on  her  ally,  the  captain,  who  at 
once  encouraged  her  to  proceed.  "Tell  us  something 
more,  Mrs.  Smith ;  you  have  given  us  only  the  inscription 
on  one  of  your  tombstones.  We  want  to  go  through  the 
whole  cemetery.  I  never  saw  Judge  Berry  so  interested." 

"  Yes  ?  "  the  lady  queried,  betraying  a  touch  of  Boston, — 
"  I  was  not  certain.  Judge  Berry's  flattery  is  so  delicate 
as  to  be  scarcely  discernible.  Let  me  see,  let  me  see,  — 
what  did  come  next?  Oh,  yes  !  The  next  thing,  Gustavus 
ate  the  canary.  I  cried  over  that,  for  Brignoli  sang  di- 
vinely, and  I  heartily  wished  that  he  had  eaten  Gustavus ; 
but  unfortunately  one  can't  reverse  the  laws  of  Nature,  even 
to  make  a  bird  eat  a  cat.  Then  I  cherished  a  hope  that 
Gustavus  would  sing;  but  no,  he  only  had  a  convulsion. 
Yet,  after  all,  it  was  n't  the  actual  tragedies  that  were  hardest 
to  bear ;  they  at  least  had  the  merit  of  excitement,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Smith  reflectively.  "  The  real  test  of  endur- 
ance lay  in  the  ceaseless  round  of  daily  drudgery  in  the 
interval  between  cooks.  Judge,  did  you  ever  wash  dishes  ?  " 
And  turning  her  blazing  eyes  full  upon  him,  she  actually 
startled  him  into  replying  seriously  — 

"  No,  madam,  I  never  did." 

"  I  might  almost  have  known  that,"  she  affirmed  with  a 
half-apologetic  smile.  "You  will  never  know  what  you 
have  escaped.  My  husband  knows  what  it  is.  Every  other 

6 


82  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

evening  for  three  long  weeks  he  had  to  do  it  before  he  was 
allowed  to  retire ;  every  other  evening  I  did  it ;  and  the 
intervening  evenings,"  she  concluded  recklessly,  "  we  did 
it  together."  And  summarily  deserting  the  cemetery,  she 
turned  to  play  with  the  baby. 

The  daring  flippancy  of  this  small  person  was  securely 
anchored  to  the  most  substantial,  middle-aged,  solid  re- 
spectability in  the  persons  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Davis,  from 
Dubuque,  under  whose  protection  her  husband  had  placed 
her  during  her  journey  to  Boston.  These  guardians  re- 
garded their  charge  with  the  amused  tolerance  with  which 
a  family  cat  regards  a  frolicsome  kitten. 

By  what  dark  device  Mrs.  Smith  induced  Mr.  Davis  to 
include  this  divergence  into  Lake  Superior  in  their  trip 
towards  the  East,  Mrs.  Davis  never  discovered ;  her  hus- 
band warded  off  any  inference  as  to  weakness  of  the  heart 
by  allusions  to  disorder  of  the  organ  upon  which  the  value 
of  life  is  said  to  depend,  and  upon  which  Lake  Superior 
air  has  a  beneficial  effect. 

As  the  steamer  advanced  on  her  way  across  Lake 
Superior,  November  came  out  of  the  West  and  silently 
vanquished  summer.  The  air  grew  cold ;  the  clear  sky 
was  densely  overcast ;  the  lake  was  dark  and  opaque,  roll- 
ing into  heavy,  snowy  crested  billows.  The  rich  dull 
colors  of  the  water,  too  gray  for  malachite,  too  green  for 
agate,  and  yet  suggesting  both;  the  musical  breaking  of 
the  waves,  in  which  myriads  of  imprisoned  sounds  seemed 
seeking  release  ;  the  distant  shore,  with  its  border  of  vary- 
ing verdure  skirting  the  southern  horizon ;  the  long  lines  of 
dark  clouds  melting  into  one  another  overhead  ;  all  chang- 
ing with  every  passing  moment,  —  held  Katharine's  attention 
with  exciting  fascination.  The  mystery  of  it  was,  that  in 
the  midst  of  all  this  never-ending  sound  and  movement  one 
should  be  conscious  of  an  influence  of  unfathomable  repose. 


A    TRANSPLANTED  BOSTONIAN.  83 

Wrapped  in  her  heavy  Scotch  plaid  of  dark  blue  and 
green,  Katharine  sat  for  hour  after  hour  in  the  bow  of  the 
boat  beside  Mrs.  Smith,  who,  enveloped  in  a  shawl  of 
Oriental  richness,  made  the  one  visible  dash  of  brilliant 
color. 

The  party  of  Canadians  who  had  come  on  board  ac- 
cented the  changed  and  Northern  aspect  of  the  surround- 
ings. Katharine  would  have  welcomed  a  group  of  old 
Vikings  as  the  proper  climax  to  the  transformation. 

As  evening  approached,  the  clouds  gradually  melted  into 
one  soft  gray  canopy  which  lowered  nearer  and  nearer  the 
water,  hiding  the  shores  and  shrouding  the  waves  until  all 
before  them  lay  a  dense  bank  of  white  fog.  Into  this  they 
entered,  and  as  the  chill  mist  settled  around  them,  the  most 
intrepid  of  the  water-lovers  gladly  took  refuge  in  the  cabin. 

However,  when  during  the  evening  the  steamer  neared 
Marquette,  the  ladies  again  ventured  out  on  deck.  The 
fog  was  impenetrable.  They  could  see  absolutely  nothing, 
even  after  they  could  plainly  hear  voices  talking  on  shore, 
and  poultry  waiting  to  be  shipped  cackling  on  the  docks. 
The  steamer  scarcely  seemed  to  move,  so  great  was  the 
caution  of  the  captain,  who  by  the  aid  of  sounds  and  sound- 
ings was  feeling  the  boat's  way  in  the  dark.  The  fog- 
whistle,  calling  every  moment,  was  answered  constantly 
by  one  at  the  lighthouse,  which  gave  out  the  most  dismal 
wailing  warnings.  The  darkness  seemed  alive  with  sounds,  — 
the  blowing  of  the  whistles,  the  plashing  of  the  water,  the 
calls  of  the  captain,  and  their  echo  returned  by  the  man  at 
the  wheel,  the  compound  of  noises  from  the  shore ;  and 
below  all  these  a  low,  steady  undercurrent  of  song  surging 
up  from  a  group  of  sailors  in  the  hold. 

All  at  once  out  of  the  darkness  one  light  appeared  like  a 
veiled  Mercury ;  ten  seconds  later  they  were  in  the  midst 
of  lights,  —  magic  lights  in  the  fog,  with  no  more  visible 


84  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

means  of  support  than  the  stars  in  the  heavens.  No  town, 
no  houses,  only  lights  so  near  as  to  seem  almost  within  reach 
of  one's  hand. 

As  the  ropes  were  thrown  out  and  the  "  Montgomery  " 
grated  heavily  against  the  dock,  dim  outlines  of  warehouses 
appeared,  with  moving  shadowy  figures  hovering  about. 
There  had  been  no  danger,  but  every  one  drew  a  breath 
of  relief  when  the  motion  of  the  boat  ceased. 

Mrs.  Smith,  who  had  been  undisguisedly  nervous,  re- 
vived into  a  state  of  cheerful  animation  as  her  sense  of 
security  returned. 

"  Such  an  eerie  experience  is  enough  to  make  one  see 
ghosts  for  a  month  of  Sundays,"  she  exclaimed.  "After 
all  this  bewildering  voyage  in  cloud-land,  some  one  must 
take  me  on  shore.  I  am  going  to  feel  my  feet  on  terra- 
firma  before  I  sleep." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Smith,"  expostulated  Mrs.  Davis,  "you 
surely  don't  mean  what  you  say.  No  one  wants  to  fumble 
around  through  this  fog  with  you  in  a  strange  town." 

"  You  think  no  one  will  go  with  me  ?  Oh  !  you  're  mis- 
taken ; "  and  she  made  a  movement  in  the  direction  of  her 
shy  and  silent  admirer.  But  the  gentleman  —  whose  name, 
by  the  way,  was  Wackershouser  —  turned  somewhat  sud- 
denly and  entered  the  cabin. 

"  I  '11  take  you  with  pride  and  delight,"  volunteered 
the  Doctor ;  "  I  am  going  to  buy  a  bottle  of  ink  for  my 
daughter." 

Five  minutes  later,  Katharine,  looking  through  the  mists 
to  the  dock  below,  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Smith's  face, 
damp  and  rosy,  with  hopelessly  demoralized  "  crimps " 
straying  across  her  forehead.  • 

Mr.  Wackershouser,  a  prey  to  embarrassment  and  remorse, 
had  taken  flight  to  the  seclusion  of  his  stateroom,  and  was 
seen  no  more  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

DIVERSIONS. 

jjUT  the  bleak  Northern  waters  were  exchanged 
for  fairyland  when  the  "  Montgomery  "  left  the 
wide  sweep  of  Lake  Superior  and  entered  the 
narrow,  curving  channel  of  the  Portage  River. 

Close  beside  the  stream,  down  into  its  very  edge,  grew 
straight,  tall  reeds  and  grasses ;  bowing  over  into  the  flowing 
current  dipped  blossoming  branches  of  trees  and  sprays  of 
vine,  as  the  land  caressed  the  water  ever  on  its  flight  from 
her  light  touch ;  the  water  in  return  tossed  back  pale 
wreaths  of  mist  that  leaned  lovingly  against  the  hillsides 
before  floating  away  in  movements  light  and  graceful  as  a 
band  of  dancing  nymphs. 

This  poetical  river,  expanding  at  one  point  into  a  lovely 
lake,  then  narrowing  again  until  the  steamer  nearly  grazed 
the  shore  in  passing,  formed  the  copper-tinted  avenue  of 
approach  into  a  most  unpoetical  region.  But  the  haunts 
of  the  brownies  lie  near  to  fairyland  the  world  over; 
and  though  the  steamer  cast  anchor  at  the  foot  of  the  most 
bleak  and  desolate  hill,  standing  in  bare  outline  against  the 
sky,  what  wealth  and  wonders  lay  hidden  underground, 
deep  in  the  heart  of  that  rugged  exterior ! 

That  the  passengers  of  the  "  Montgomery  "  interviewed 
the  brownies  and  magicians  who  gather  and  transmute  the 


86  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

treasures,  was  proved  by  the  trophies  carried  off  when  the 
boat  once  more  began  threading  her  way  towards  Lake 
Superior.  By  far  the  most  beautiful  of  these  souvenirs  was 
in  possession  of  Mrs.  Smith.  When  Mr.  Wackershouser 
offered  it  with  blushing  diffidence  she  dropped  for  the  mo- 
ment her  coquetry  as  she  gave  him  her  hand  and  thanked 
him  in  a  gentle,  sisterly  way. 

This  overture  went  far  to  melt  the  ice  on  Mr.  Wacker- 
shouser's  part ;  he  even  mustered  courage  next  day  to  ask 
Mrs.  Smith  and  Miss  Kennard  to  go  upon  the  upper  deck, 
as  the  Apostles'  Islands  were  coming  into  view.  The  islands 
lay  encircled  in  a  setting  of  radiant  blue,  for  the  heavens 
were  cloudless  and  the  water  was  still,  —  a  state  of  nature 
that  induced  Mrs.  Smith  to  tip  her  hat  over  her  eyes  at  a 
desperately  inclined  plane. 

When  he  had  the  ladies  comfortably  settled  on  the  shaded 
side  of  the  pilot-house,  Mr.  Wackershouser  entertained 
them  with  bits  of  early  history.  He  pointed  out  to  them  on 
Madeleine  Island  the  little  chapel  that  still  stands,  —  the 
lone  monument  of  the  missionary  spirit  which  raised  the  ban- 
ner of  the  Romish  Church  in  those  distant  waters  while  the 
Puritans  were  sowing  the  seeds  of  Calvinism  along  the 
shores  of  New  England. 

"  Are  n't  there  more  than  twelve  of  the  Islands?  "  Kathar- 
ine asked  as  the  afternoon  wore  on  and  fresh  tracts  of 
verdure  broke  the  smooth  expanse  of  water. 

"  There  are  twenty-four,  the  captain  tells  me,"  Mr.  Wack- 
ershouser replied. 

"Perhaps  they  allowed  each  Mr.  Apostle  a  Mrs.  A.," 
suggested  Mrs.  Smith. 

"  Possibly,"  returned  her  admirer ;  "  but  another  incon- 
gruity appears  in  the  fact  that  not  one  of  them  individually 
bears  the  name  of  an  apostle." 

"  You  forget  poor  Judas,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Smith.     "  Was 


DIVERSIONS.  87 

he  not  called  a  devil,  and  is  n't  there  a  Devil's  Island  among 
these  water-bound  Apostles  ?  But  the  others  will  scarcely 
envy  Judas  the  distinction  of  that  association." 

The  last  of  the  islands  was  still  in  sight  when  evening 
fell ;  and  when  the  "  Montgomery  "  was  retracing  her  course 
towards  Chicago  the  next  night  under  the  starlight,  the 
islands  again  were  passed,  but  the  decks  of  the  steamer 
were  then  deserted. 

The  evenings  were  always  welcomed  by  Mrs.  Smith,  for 
it  was  then  that  the  passengers,  scattered  during  the  day, 
were  gathered  together  in  the  cabin ;  and  it  was  then  that 
Mrs.  Smith's  social  versatility  afforded  unlimited  diversion 
to  her  compagnons  de  voyage.  Miss  Kennard  was  usually 
ordered  to  the  piano  as  the  opening  exercise.  One  even- 
ing as  some  swinging,  undulating  waltz  movement  swept 
out  from  beneath  Katharine's  elastic  fingers,  Mrs.  Smith 
exclaimed,  — 

"  Oh  !  that 's  just  too  ravishing  !  Judge  Berry,  if  you 
could  only  conceive  how  I  yearn  to  waltz,  as  a  gentleman 
and  a  Christian  you  would  try.  Jim  danced  superbly ; 
he  just  waltzed  right  into  my  heart." 

"  In  my  youth  the  selection  of  a  conjugal  companion 
was  considered  a  subject  worthy  of  serious  contemplation," 
the  judge  replied  sententiously. 

After  tantalizing  Mrs.  Smith  with  waltzes,  Katharine 
would  play  for  Captain  Nicholson ;  and  he  being  an  old- 
countryman,  it  was  the  "  Blue-Bells  of  Scotland,"  "  Bonnie 
Dundee,"  and  "Annie  Laurie  "  that  she  gave  him,  invariably 
closing  this  section  of  her  programme  with  "  Mrs.  Mc- 
Donald's Scotch  Reel,"  —  the  quaintest  and  Scotchiest  of 
them  all.  The  Captain  begged  for  the  same  tunes  every 
evening.  "  Doctor,"  he  said,  "  your  daughter  makes  that 
piano  almost  sing ;  she  takes  me  back  to  my  boyhood, 
and  fairly  brings  my  mother's  face  before  me." 


88  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

It  was  the  judge  who  delighted  in  war-tunes.  The 
lion  and  the  lamb  reposed  together  as  the  "  Bonnie  Blue 
Flag"  and  the  "Star-Spangled  Banner,"  "Dixie  Land" 
and  "  Hail,  Columbia  !  "  mingled  harmoniously  and  with 
equal  acceptance. 

It  happened  one  evening  that  Katharine  usurped  the 
position  of  mistress  of  ceremonies.  After  dashing  off  a 
spray  of  waltz-movement  for  Mrs.  Smith,  a  fragment  of 
English  song  for  the  captain,  and  a  martial  strain  for  the 
judge  by  way  of  preliminary,  she  paused,  wheeled  around 
on  her  piano-stool,  and  announced, — 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  have  the  honor  to  present  to 
you  a  new  star ;  "  and  thereupon  Teddy  Nicholson,  the 
captain's  boy  of  twelve,  joined  Miss  Kennard  and  made  his 
blushing  bow. 

By  some  knack  of  touch,  Katharine  produced  a  low, 
thrumming,  banjo-like  accompaniment  from  the  piano, 
above  which  rose,  sweet  and  clear,  a  flute-like  note,  carry- 
ing one  negro  melody  after  another,  —  "  Old  Black  Joe," 
"Uncle  Ned,"  "Massa's  in  the  Cold,  Cold  Ground," 
and  others  of  their  kindred  :  those  sorrowful  melodies  of 
the  South,  plaintive  as  the  call  of  the  mourning  dove. 
It  was  only  a  boy's  whistle,  but  it  touched  a  chord  in  every 
breast. 

The  captain  undisguise^Hy  wiped  his  eyes  when  his  boy 
finished.  "  Ah,  Teddy,"  he  said,  "  it  takes  Miss  Kennard 
to  show  off  your  accomplishments.  I  'm  afraid  you  '11  be 
going  off  to  join  the  minstrels  next." 

"  Madam  Smith  comes  next  on  the  programme  ;  the  per- 
formance in  her  case  is  left  to  discretion." 

"Yes,  it's  my  turn  now,"  assented  the  lady  mentioned. 
"Captain,  just  give  me  an  arm  to  the  head  of  this  vast 
apartment,  and  I  '11  speak  a  piece,  so  to  say,  for  you." 

After  posing  a  moment  or  two,  and  looking  altogether  too 


DIVERSIONS.  89 

distractingly  flirtatious  for  a  matron  of  Boston  extraction, 
she  began  :  — 

"  It  was  a  jolly  oysterman." 

and  when  she  concluded  with, — 

"  And  now  they  keep  an  oyster-shop 
For  mermaids  down  below," 

her  manner  was  deliciously  captivating.  Even  the  stern 
judicial  features  were  relaxed  into  a  smile,  and  the  stoop- 
shouldered  Mr.  Wackershouser  nearly  bent  himself  double 
with  suppressed  glee. 

"Isn't  she  a  brick,  though?  "  Teddy  whispered  to  Miss 
Kennard. 

After  that,  recitations  from  "the  little  actress,"  as  the 
judge  called  her,  were  in  great  demand. 

It  was  on  the  return  trip  that  the  "Montgomery "passed 
the  Pictured  Rocks  by  daylight,  or  rather  at  approach  of 
evening ;  and  the  passengers  were  all  assembled  on  deck. 
The  vessel  passed  near  the  shore,  and  the  level  rays  of 
the  sinking  sun  struck  the  rocks,  adding  new  splendor  to 
their  rich  coloring,  and  exhibiting  to  perfection  their  strik- 
ing and  wonderful  outlines.  As  they  came  distinctly  into 
view  a  hush  fell  over  the  group  of  persons,  each  one  ab- 
sorbed in  contemplating  this  impressive  vision. 

They  seemed  to  have  drifted  into  some  fabulous  wonder- 
land. Katharine  was  filled  with  subdued  excitement,  al- 
most holding  her  breath  lest  the  charm  should  be  broken. 
Mrs.  Smith's  big  eyes  were  expanded  with  amazement. 
Every  vestige  of  a  smile  had  left  Mr.  Wackershouser,  and  a 
fine  repose  had  settled  upon  his  odd  face. 

But  the  increasing  expression  of  solemn  astonishment 
deepening  in  Judge  Berry's  face  was  too  great  a  temptation 
to  be  resisted  by  Mrs.  Smith. 

"  Oh  !  Judge,"  she  exclaimed,  "  what  magnificent  sculp- 


go  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

ture,  what  superb  coloring  !  Was  it  done  at  the  expense  of 
Government?" 

"  By  the  Divine  Government,  ma'am,"  the  judge  replied 
with  a  gentle  earnestness  which  had  its  effect. 

"The  judge  got  ahead  of  her  this  time,"  commented 
Teddy. 

"How  I  wish  baby  could  remember  this  wonderful 
beauty  !  But  it  would  not  be  possible,  would  it,  Doctor  ?  " 
Mrs.  Benedict  inquired,  with  apparently  the  faint  hope  that 
the  Doctor  would  admit  the  possibility. 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  at  ten  months,"  the  Doctor  answered. 

"  If  she  does,  she  will  come  to  consider  it  a  recollection 
of  heaven  and  an  intimation  of  immortality,"  ventured  Mrs. 
Smith. 

"  Lovely  being,  then  she  has  a  soul,  after  all ! "  was  the 
joyful  inference  of  the  willowy  Wackershouser. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  she  believes  in  anything  but  this 
world?"  inwardly  queried  the  judge,  not  recognizing  the 
allusion.  But  the  captain  only  thought,  "What  queer 
notions  women  have  ! " 


CHAPTER    XV. 

ANOTHER  WALTZ. 

|HE  next  morning  the  passengers  of  the  "  Mont- 
gomery "  were  drowsily  conscious  of  the  com- 
motion attendant  upon  a  stopping  of  the  boat, 
and  vaguely  remembered  yesterday's  report 
that  they  would  reach  some  unheard-of  little  place  at  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  Miss  Kennard  was  aroused  suffi- 
ciently to  endeavor  to  recall  the  name  of  the  place,  and 
raised  her  window  for  a  glimpse  of  the  unknown  shore ; 
but  from  the  wintry  breeze  that  swept  in  through  the  open- 
ing she  concluded  that  they  had  drifted  into  the  Arctic 
regions,  and  she  was  glad  to  return  to  her  adventures  in 
Dreamland. 

An  hour  later,  hearing  her  father  moving  in  the  adjoining 
stateroom,  the  young  lady's  courage  revived,  and  she  soon 
appeared  on  deck,  warmly  wrapped  in  her  plaid,  but  too 
late  to  go  on  shore,  for  the  boat  was  already  in  motion. 

"  Never  mind,  papa,  we  will  go  up  on  the  hurricane-deck 
and  take  a  constitutional,"  she  said,  slipping  her  hand  within 
her  father's  arm.  However,  when  the  desired  elevation  was 
reached  they  stood  for  some  time  silently  watching  the 
receding  shore. 


92  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD, 

They  were  observed  with  evident  interest  by  a  new  pas- 
senger whom  they  had  not  noticed. 

Katharine's  lithe  young  figure  was  outlined  against  the 
sky,  the  wind  played  with  her  scarf  of  light  blue  veiling,  set 
in  trembling  motion  the  fringes  of  her  shawl,  and  gave  a 
backward  sweep  to  the  folds  of  her  dress.  The  stranger 
noted  the  delicate  contour,  the  heavy  twist  of  shining  hair, 
and  the  Andalusian  foot.  A  moment  after,  and  father  and 
daughter  began  their  promenade. 

"  I  '11  wait  and  see  if  she  remembers  me,"  decided  the 
young  man. 

But  Katharine  happened  to  be  absorbed  just  then  in  talk- 
ing ;  the  breeze  conveyed  her  words  :  — 

"  Now,  if  I  had  made  the  allusion  that  she  did,  it  would 
have  sounded  horribly  pedantic ;  but  to  hear  that  little 
heathen  refer  to  Wordsworth  in  that  familiar  fashion  was 
bewitching.  I  wondered  if  she  appreciated  the  delicious 
incongruity.  I  wanted  to  give  her  a  kiss." 

"Happy  'little  heathen,'  who  can  she  be?"  cogitated 
the  over-hearer  as  he  moved  nearer  the  range  of  their  return 
walk.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  instant  recognition  and 
glad  surprise  that  lighted  Katharine's  face  as  her  eyes  fell 
upon  the  new-comer. 

Dr.  Kennard  witnessed  with  surprise  the  cordial  greeting 
between  his  daughter  and  the  good-looking  young  stranger. 
The  Doctor  pronounced  him  good-looking  because  he  looked 
good.  Such  an  honest,  common-sense,  genial  face,  with 
that  firm,  square  chin,  and  those  ingenuous  gray  eyes,  was  a 
passport  among  men.  Scarcely  was  Major  Allston  presented 
to  Dr.  Kennard  before  a  contagious,  ringing  peal  of 
laughter  heralded  the  approach  of  Mrs.  Smith,  and  her 
brilliant  face  appeared,  encircled  by  the  fleecy  folds  of  her 
"  fascinator,"  as  she  mounted  the  last  rung  of  the  ladder  of 
ascent.  Merely  bowing  in  acknowledgment  of  Allston's 


ANOTHER    WALTZ.  93 

introduction,  she  joined  the  Doctor,  saying  in  a  low  but 
distinctly  audible  tone :  "  The  baby  is  not  well ;  I  have  a 
gloomy  conviction  that  it  is  a  premature  development  of 
her  intimations  of  immortality." 

"  Butterflies  should  not  indulge  in  sacrilegious  nonsense," 
said  Katharine.  "  The  baby  is  n't  really  ill,  is  she  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  maybe  she  is,"  returned  Mrs.  Smith 
with  a  comic  look  of  blank  innocence  that  discounted  her 
previous  remark.  "  She  was  weeping  when  I  left  her ;  but 
perhaps  she  only  missed  her  most  devoted." 

"  If  you  will  undertake  the  duties  of  chaperone  up  here, 
I  will  try  to  comfort  Miss  Baby,"  said  the  Doctor ;  but  the 
summons  to  breakfast  carried  them  all  below. 

Mrs.  Smith  was  grievously  tempted  to  lavish  her  bland- 
ishments on  the  new-comer  ;  but  this  first  day  she  refrained, 
from  a  generous  regard  of  Katharine's  prior  claim.  She 
found  compensating  amusement,  however,  in  opening  the 
whole  battery  of  her  coquetries  upon  Judge  Berry,  and 
bewildered  him  to  such  an  extent  that  he  almost  lost  his 
moral  bearings.  Her  triumph  was  complete  when  she  had 
cajoled  the  judge  into  learning  to  play  euchre. 

For  some  occult  reason  it  came  to  pass  that  Allston,  now 
Colonel  instead  of  Major,  rather  monopolized  the  society  of 
the  only  young  lady  on  board.  Through  mutual  remem- 
brance, time,  and  distance,  their  one  meeting  had  become 
magnified  into  an  old  friendship,  and  seemed  to  have  de- 
veloped unlimited  associations.  It  could  be  no  stranger 
with  whom  Katharine  was  so  perfectly  at  home  on  the  very 
day  of  their  chance  encounter. 

The  two  were  talking  together  as  the  steamer  swept 
across  White  Fish  Bay  and  was  moored  beside  the  long 
narrow  Point  where  fishermen  cast  their  nets  with  such  suc- 
cess ;  and  as  a  matter  of  course  the  Colonel  escorted  the 
young  lady  on  shore,  past  the  long  row  of  unkempt  and 


94  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

sun-browned  fishermen  who  lined  the  dock,  through  the 
rough  sheds  where  the  fish  were  packed,  and  between  the 
freshly  tarred  nets  spread  on  the  grass  to  dry. 

As  they  reached  the  pebbly  beach  where  the  wet  stones 
were  glistening  in  the  sun,  three  great  dogs,  beautiful,  long- 
haired, tan-colored  monsters,  sprang  forward  with  enthusi- 
astic greeting ;  they  threw  their  front  paws  and  heads  on 
the  shoulders  of  the  strangers,  caressing  them  ardently,  and 
looking  up  into  their  faces  with  joyful  confidence. 

Katharine  was  nearly  overwhelmed  by  this  demonstrative 
affection,  until  her  escort  caused  a  diversion  by  flinging  a 
broken  oar  into  the  water,  which  sent  the  dogs  bounding 
into  the  waves  in  wild  excitement. 

"  Watch  their  faces,"  said  the  Colonel ;  "  see  the  pride 
and  elation  of  the  one  that  secures  the  prize,  and  the  dis- 
appointment and  chagrin  of  the  others.  It  is  too  patheti- 
cally human.  Poor  fellows  !  they  remind  me  of  my  college 
days.  Don't  you  always  wish  that  dogs  could  speak,  Miss 
Kennard  ?  Don't  you  wonder  what  is  the  real  dividing-line 
between  them  and  us? " 

"  They  certainly  share  our  best  qualities,  —  courage,  faith- 
fulness, unselfishness.  If  self-sacrifice  is  divine  in  us,  what 
is  it  in  you,  you  splendid  fellow?"  Katharine  answered, 
turning  to  the  dog  who  had  just  dropped  a  watery  trophy 
at  her  feet. 

A  broad  line  of  snowy  spray  was  dashed  along  the  hard 
beach  as  the  rushing  waves  chased  each  other  on  shore. 
Nature  seemed  to  have  taken  up  the  mad  frolic  of  the 
dogs,  which  grew  wilder  as  new  passengers  joined  the  group 
and  more  bits  of  plank  were  sent  skimming  on  the  water 
than  could  be  captured  by  the  eager  pursuers. 

In  the  shifting  combinations  of  persons  that  followed, 
Colonel  Allston  took  good  care  to  keep  near  Miss  Kennard  ; 
he  had  no  mind  to  surrender  his  privilege  of  helping  her 


ANOTHER   WALTZ.  95 

over  the  ups  and  downs  on  the  return  to  the  steamer,  and 
momentarily  clasping  her  hand  by  the  way. 

Later  in  the  day,  in  the  early  edge  of  the  evening,  he 
thought  it  great  good-luck  when  he  happened  to  find  Miss 
Kennard  by  herself  aloft  in  a  little  life-boat,  and  was  invited 
to  share  her  favorite  retreat. 

The  sun  was  nearing  the  horizon ;  not  the  lightest  breeze 
was  stirring ;  and  the  over-arching  heavens,  with  their  blen- 
ded sea-shell  tints  of  gold  and  rose,  were  reflected  on  the 
surface  of  the  water ;  while  the  new  moon  looked  down 
upon  its  own  image,  —  a  silvery  scimitar  quivering  on  the 
bosom  of  the  lake.  Unnoted  silence  fell  between  the  two ; 
they  were  not  even  consciously  thinking  of  each  other  in 
their  perfect  enjoyment  of  the  exquisite  beauty  and  calm 
of  the  hour. 

It  was  Katharine  who  broke  the  silence,  as  she  turned  to 
her  companion,  saying  :  "  There  's  nothing  even  akin  to  the 
fascination  of  water  except  music,  is  there?  And  even 
music  misses  something  of  the  effect  of — how  shall  I 
express  it  ?  —  illimitable  elevation  ;  aspiration  ?  You  see 
I  have  n't  expressed  it ;  the  moment  one  attempts  to 
embody  a  spiritual  impression  in  words,  one  simply  mate- 
rializes it." 

"  'T  is  only  the  soul  can  interpret 
The  message  that  comes  from  the  sea ; 
No  words  have  the  power  to  imprison 
That  spirit  so  boundless  and  free." 

The  Colonel's  voice  was  musical  and  sympathetic  as  he 
echoed  Katharine's  thought  in  verse,  and  the  young  girl 
was  thrilled  with  pleasure  by  his  response. 

"  Oh  !  who  said  that,  and  what  is  the  rest  ?  "  she  asked. 

" '  Anon.'  said  it ;  and  I  think  I  can  remember  the  other 
verses  for  you." 

As  Katharine  listened,  the  quiet  bay  seemed  to  expand 


96  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

into  the  vast  ocean ;  when  the  poem  was  finished,  only  the 
light  in  the  listener's  eyes  paid  tribute  to  its  beauty. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "it  seems  so  odd  to  hear  a 
soldier  fresh  from  war  repeating  poetry  of  that  character?  " 

"  Fighting  certainly  is  not  a  sentimental  business,  even 
when  a  sentiment  causes  a  man  to  enlist  in  the  army ;  but 
you  must  remember  that  fighting  forms  but  a  small  part  of 
a  soldier's  occupation.  To  a  degree,  war  seems  always  to 
foster  romance.  I  fancy  that  a  soldier  passes  more  hours 
in  sentimental  reverie  than  would  be  possible  to  any  man 
carrying  on  an  active  business.  Is  it  not  Bayard  Taylor 
who  tells  us  how,  on  the  eve  of  battle,  — 

"  They  sang  of  love,  and  not  of  fame ; 

Each  heart  recalled  a  different  name, 

But  all  sang  '  Annie  Laurie '  ?  " 

Katharine's  memory  supplemented  the  unspoken  close, — 

"  The  bravest  are  the  tenderest, 
The  loving  are  the  daring." 

"  What  a  foaming  crest  of  poetry  followed  in  the  wake 
of  the  war,"  continued  Allston. 

"  Too  much  like  the  flowers  that  grow  on  graves,"  inter- 
posed Katharine. 

"  But  more  enduring,"  the  young  soldier  added ;  "  many 
of  these  poems  will  have  passed  into  the  national  inheri- 
tance of  literature,  to  the  generation  who  will  know  the 
war  only  as  history.  Those  inspired  words  of  Lowell's 
Commemoration  Ode  must  ring  clear  through  centuries. 
But  you  do  not  know  how  much  cause  I  have  to  feel  that ; 
for  you  do  not  know  that  I  started  West  from  Boston,  and 
that  it  was  my  great  good  fortune  to  be  present,  and  to 
hear  that  Ode  from  the  poet's  own  lips.  I  wish  that  I  could 
give  you  some  idea  of  the  profound  and  thrilling  impression 
that  it  produced.  I  would  not  have  missed  it  for  worlds, 


ANOTHER   WALTZ.  97 

because,  in  some  way,  it  seemed  to  free  the  spiritual  from 
the  material  side  of  the  war,  to  illumine  the  great  ideas, 
and  to  drop  into  insignificance  all  sacrifices.  You  can  fancy 
a  soldier  dying  on  the  battle-field,  and  through  death  lifted 
beyond  all  the  horrors  of  the  war  into  the  full  realization  of 
the  eternal  value  of  the  principles  for  which  he  had  given 
a  few  years  of  life.  Lowell  seemed  like  a  divine  prophet 
commissioned  to  give  the  same  assurance  to  those  soldiers 
who  happened  to  be  left  on  the  darker  side.  Those  who 
had  fought  and  died,  and  those  who  had  fought  and  lived, 
seemed  welded  into  undying  unity  as  the  poet  exalted  the 
high  cause  and  the  deathless  results  for  which  all  alike  —  " 

The  young  officer  abruptly  paused,  blushing  like  a  school- 
girl with  the  sudden  consciousness  that  in  his  eulogy  of  the 
poet  he  was  sounding  his  own  praises.  But  the  enthusiasm 
which  had  unthinkingly  carried  him  on  —  as  really  regard- 
less of  himself  as  if  he  had  not  been  a  soldier  —  this 
enthusiasm  was  clearly  reflected  in  the  shining  eyes  and 
the  mobile  face  of  his  companion. 

A  diversion  was  at  hand  in  the  form  of  Teddy  Nicholson. 

"  Miss  Kennard,  Mrs.  Smith  sends  her  compliments,  and 
wishes  me  to  say  that  the  performers  in  the  cabin  are  wait- 
ing for  the  orchestra ;  and  Mrs.  Smith  sends  her  compli- 
ments to  Colonel  Allston,  and  requests  that  he  will  honor 
her  with  his  first  waltz." 

Teddy  concluded  this  announcement  with  a  ceremonious 
bow. 

"  Please  present  our  compliments  to  Mrs.  Smith,  Teddy, 
and  tell  her  that  the  orchestra  will  be  down  directly ;  that 
Colonel  Allston  is  engaged  to  Miss  Kennard  for  the  first 
waltz,  but  will  be  highly  honored  to  claim  her  hand  for  the 
second."  Then,  turning  to  Katharine,  the  Colonel  asked  : 
"  By  the  way,  Miss  Kennard,  have  n't  the  stars  come  out 
ahead  of  time  this  evening?" 

7 


98  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

"  I  should  think  so,  judging  from  the  light  still  in  the 
west.  And  when  did  I  promise  you  a  waltz?  " 

"  I  took  the  liberty  of  claiming  it,  minus  the  formality  of 
a  promise." 

"  There  's  no  one  to  play  for  us." 

"  Can't  some  one  whistle  a  waltz  ?  Teddy  can  and 
shall." 

And  Teddy  did ;  and  aptly  selecting  one  suitable  to  a 
military  dancer,  began  the  air  to  — 

"  I  now  freely  offer 
My  heart  and  my  hand 

To  thee,  my  dearest  country, 
To  thee,  my  native  land." 

Mrs.  Smith  mischievously  hummed  a  sotto-voce  varia- 
tion :  — 

"  I  now  freely  offer 
My  heart  and  my  hand 

To  thee,  enchanting  maiden, 
The  fairest  in  the  land." 

But  only  Teddy  caught  the  words,  which  caused  him  to 
laugh,  and  made  it  difficult  for  him  to  work  his  whistle. 

They  were  slowly  revolving  through  the  cabin  when  the 
Colonel  said  in  an  undertone  :  "  I  can  scarcely  realize  that 
this  waltz  is  a  present  reality,  and  not  merely  a  memory." 

"  And  I  never  knew  until  this  morning  whether  you  were 
living  or  dead,"  his  partner  somewhat  irrelevantly  re- 
sponded, as  if  his  life  had  become  a  matter  of  some 
moment  to  her. 

And  then  Mrs.  Smith  waltzed  to  her  heart's  content. 

"  You  are  a  capital  waltzer,  Colonel,  but  not  quite  equal 
to  Jim,  after  all,"  she  exclaimed  as  they  paused.  "  I  don't 
believe  you  have  the  soul  of  a  waltzer,  and  Jim  has ;  still, 
for  an  average  man  you  do  very  well."  She  chatted  on 
amiably  while  both  were  recovering  breath ;  then  suddenly 


ANOTHER    WALTZ.  99 

assumed  an  air  and  tone  of  authority.  "  And  now  you 
must  do  something  to  entertain  the  brethren  and  sisters 
here  assembled.  I  am  the  mistress  of  ceremonies,  and  my 
mandates  are  implicitly  obeyed.  We  have  been  subsisting 
on  piano-playing,  whistling,  and  dramatic  recitation.  We 
demand  a  change.  You  must  give  us  a  song,  —  a  war-song, 
full  of  fire  and  smoke  and  powder." 

The  gallant  Colonel  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  little 
commander. 

"  Of  course  there  does  n't  happen  to  be  a  collection  of 
Schumann's  songs  on  board  ?  "  he  said  to  Katharine. 

"  Oh  !  yes,  there  is,"  she  answered ;  "  I  brought  my  vol- 
ume of  Scotch  songs,  thinking  they  might  come  in  well  on 
our  trip.  My  Schumann  happens  to  be  in  a  similar  binding, 
and  by  mistake  I  took  both." 

"  What  luck  !  Then  you  will  play  the  '  Two  Grenadiers ' 
forme?" 

The  walls  of  the  little  cabin  echoed  to  the  ringing,  so- 
norous baritone.  The  Colonel  sang  with  a  military  fire 
and  ardor  that  covered  him  with  glory. 

"  What  an  inspiriting  accompaniment  you  play,  Miss 
Kennard  !  That  magnetic  touch  of  yours  just  arouses  all 
the  music  there  is  in  a  man." 

"I  was  so  interested  in  listening,  I  wonder  I  did  not 
forget  to  play.  You  touched  one  of  my  enthusiasms  when 
you  proposed  a  Schumann  song." 

Mrs.  Smith  was  radiant  with  the  success  of  her  hap- 
hazard stroke. 

"  Oh,  Colonel  Allston,  this  does  break  my  heart !  Such 
an  acquisition  to  our  company  just  when  I  am  on  the 
dizzy  verge  of  departure  ! "  she  said,  with  tragic  despair. 
"  I  know  't  is  true  my  absence  will  not  create  quite  such 
an  aching  void,  since  you  are  come  to  fill  the  vacancy ; 
but  it  is  meagre  comfort  realizing  that  one  will  not  be 


IOO  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

missed.  To-morrow  evening  my  tears  of  desolation  will 
mingle  with  the  watery  waste  of  Lake  Huron.  I  suppose 
there  is  no  use  in  denying  that  I  am  frivolous  to  the  core ; 
but  even  frivolity  can  experience  the  pangs  of  separation." 

However,  Mrs.  Smith  made  the  most  of  her  last  evening 
on  board  the  "  Montgomery,"  and  kept  up  her  social  gale 
until  near  midnight.  Before  the  Eastern  and  Western 
bound  passengers  finally  separated,  Mrs.  Smith  made 
ardent  protestations  of  friendship  for  Miss  Kennard,  and 
had  endeavored  to  extract  the  promise  of  a  visit. 

"Not  out  in  Iowa,  you  know, — that  would  simply  be  the 
immolation  of  a  saint.  You  must  come  to  me  in  Boston, 
and  we  will  return  West  together,  before  the  holidays.  I  'd 
like  to  exhibit  you  to  my  friends  as  a  native  flower  of  the 
West.  They  have  no  idea  that  the  Badger  State  can  pro- 
duce such  a  specimen  of  elegant  simplicity.  Now  I  like 
to  be  elaborate  in  dress ;  it 's  one  of  my  fixed  foibles  :  but 
I  will  confess  that  I  just  feel  like  a  dahlia  beside  a  lily 
when  I  am  with  you." 

"  You  are  far  more  like  a  royal  George  IV.  rose  than  I 
am  like  a  lily." 

"  Perhaps  I  meant  tiger-lily,"  Mrs.  Smith  said  vaguely. 
It  was  one  of  her  whims  to  feign  ignorance  of  what  she  had 
meant  whenever  one  of  her  assertions  was  challenged. 

"Tiger-lily,"  she  continued,  —  "no,  I  don't  think  I 
meant  that  either.  You  are  not  tall  and  stately,  in  the 
orthodox  lily  sense  ;  but  for  all  that  you  have  in  you  some- 
thing of  the  essential  essence  of  the  lovely  white  lilies." 

Colonel  Allston,  standing  by,  could  have  defined  that 
"  essence  "  in  one  word. 

"You  shall  say  what  flower  Miss  Kennard  is  like,  Colonel," 
commanded  the  ruler  of  the  cabin. 

"  The  harebell,"  responded  Allston,  without  an  instant's 
hesitation. 


ANOTHER   WALTZ.  IOI 

"  Why,  of  course,  just  the  harebell,  —  delicacy,  fearless- 
ness, aspiration ;  swayed  by  the  lightest  breeze,  and  yet 
clinging  securely  in  most  dangerous  and  inaccessible 
heights,  against  horrible  bare,  rugged  cliffs." 

"  What  do  you  know  of  my  courage,  moral  or  physical, 
Madam  Smith  ?  And  as  for  holding  my  own  through  dan- 
ger and  desolation  on  bare  and  rugged  heights,  no  mortal 
girl  was  ever  more  sheltered  and  protected  than  I." 

"  I  don't  care  a  bit  about  that ;  you  're  only  a  girl  yet. 
I  know  people ;  I  was  n't  born  in  Boston  for  nothing,  I  can 
assure  you.  You  have  n't  been  married  yet ;  perhaps  mat- 
rimony will  prove  your  bleak  and  dizzy  precipice.  And 
mark  my  words,"  —  in  a  tragically  prophetic  tone, — "where 
your  affections  once  take  root,  there  they  will  hold,  though 
lightnings  scathe,  and  hurricanes  rage  ! " 

"  It  is  too  late  in  the  day  for  Folly  to  attempt  to  palm 
herself  off  as  a  Sibyl ;  we  know  her  too  well.  Already  her 
idle  words  are  scattered  to  the  winds,"  replied  Katharine. 

Colonel  Allston  had  detected  the  vein  of  genuine  Yankee 
shrewdness  beneath  the  mercurial  surface  which  was  apt  to 
dazzle  the  eyes  of  those  who  regarded  Mrs.  Smith.  He 
wondered  whether  her  gauge  of  Miss  Kennard's  character- 
istics was  at  all  accurate ;  and  over  his  after-dinner  cigar 
he  very  naturally  pursued  speculations  of  his  own  in  the 
direction  indicated  by  Mrs.  Smith. 

When  night  closed  in,  the  cabin  circle  very  sensibly  missed 
the  scintillations  of  the  bewitching  little  will-o'-the-wisp, 
whose  audacity  had  never  overflowed  the  channels  of  per- 
fect good-nature. 

"  As  for  her  staying  in  Boston  until  cold  weather,  in  her 
heart  she  is  already  secretly  pining  for  '  Jim,'  as  she  be- 
trayed to  me  a  dozen  times,"  said  Katharine. 

"If  only  she  could  have  the  comfort  of  knowing  how 
sadly  we  miss  her,"  murmured  the  depressed  Wacker- 


IO2  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

shouser,  emboldened  to  offer  a  remark  by  way  of  tribute  to 
the  departed  luminary  before  abandoning  himself  to  pen- 
sive melancholy. 

It  certainly  would  have  elated  Mrs.  Smith  could  she 
have  seen  with  what  thinly  veiled  eagerness  Judge  Berry 
proposed  a  game  of  euchre. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


CUPID   IN   A   CEMETERY. 

URING  the  night  the  "  Montgomery  "  again  glided 
into  the  Straits  of  Mackinac  and  cast  anchor 
on  the  island  for  over  Sunday.  Very  unlike  a 
fashionable  hotel  was  the  old  Mission  House, 
to  which  the  voyagers  directed  their  steps  when  they  left 
the  steamer  after  a  late  breakfast. 

The  morning  air  was  delicious,  and  as  the  piazza,  was 
more  inviting  than  the  interior  of  the  house,  the  strangers 
took  possession  by  common  consent.  A  row  of  windows 
opened  from  the  piazza,  into  the  low  parlor,  from  whence 
issued  children's  voices  in  a  chorus  of  Sunday-school  hymns ; 
and  glancing  within,  what  a  charming  picture  was  revealed  ! 
In  the  centre  of  the  group  of  children  sat  a  lady  who  was 
still  on  what  we  call  the  sunny  side  of  life;  but  then, 
her  side  of  life  would  always  be  the  sunny  side,  for  she 
knew  where  to  find  light  from  the  west  as  surely  as  from 
the  east. 

Of  the  blond  type,  she  yet  gave  an  impression  of  a 
Southern  luxuriance  of  nature  and  temperament.  Every- 
thing about  her  was  on  a  generous  scale.  There  was  power 
and  sweetness  and  humor  in  her  strong,  womanly  face, 
characterized  by  lines  at  once  firm  and  flexible ;  but  the 


104  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

all-pervading  expression  was  —  benevolence  is  too  mild  a 
term,  excluding  a  certain  imperial  quality  which  is  devel- 
oped only  by  the  ability  as  well  as  the  desire  to  give  gener- 
ously; the  stamp  of  what  one  has  done,  as  well  as  the 
assurance  of  what  one  would  willingly  do.  To  meet  Mrs. 
Whitney  once  was  to  think  of  her  ever  afterwards  as  the 
living  embodiment  of  Beneficence.  But  all  this  was  not 
discovered  by  the  observers,  for  it  happened  that  the  lady's 
back  was  towards  them,  and  only  the  ripples  of  her  hair,  as 
silky  and  sunny  as  Katharine's  own,  suggested  an  attractive 
face.  She  had  the  children  well  in  hand,  played  their  ac- 
companiment cheerily  on  the  jingling  old  piano,  and  carried 
half  a  dozen  hymns  to  a  triumphant  close ;  then  she  seated 
one  of  the  smallest  children  on  her  ample  lap,  and  listened 
to  a  shyly  lisped  Bible  verse ;  then  scattered  her  little  flock 
with  the  announcement  that  they  must  run  off  and  get  ready 
for  Sunday-school.  At  this  juncture  the  lady  arose  and 
faced  her  spectators.  As  she  saw  at  a  glance  that  they 
must  have  witnessed  her  proceedings,  she  advanced  directly 
towards  them,  saying :  "  You  see  I  am  one  of  the  mothers 
in  Israel.  The  children  love  to  sing,  and  I  love  to  hear 
them ; "  and  she  went  on  talking  to  the  strangers  as  if  she 
had  known  them  all  her  life. 

Wait  for  an  introduction  in  a  place  like  that?  Not  Mrs. 
Whitney.  She  could  assume  the  forms  and  ceremonies  of 
the  straitest  sect  of  social  Pharisees ;  but  she  was  altogether 
too  sure  of  her  position  to  fear  any  danger  in  possibly  speak- 
ing to  the  wrong  person,  and  the  instinct  of  hospitality  was 
so  strong  within  her  that  whether  in  her  own  home,  on  board 
a  steamer,  or  at  a  country  hotel,  she  had  always  a  welcome 
for  the  new-comer. 

An  old  habitut  of  Mackinac,  she  was  familiar  with  its 
varied  attractions ;  and  finding  that  the  strangers  were  only 
to  be  there  for  the  day,  she  made  out  an  order  of  pro- 


CUPID  IN  A    CEMETERY.  105 

ceedings  for  Colonel  Allston  which  would  insure  their 
acquaintance  with  the  main  points  of  interest  on  the  island. 

"  But  to  begin  with,"  she  concluded,  "  you  must  go  to 
church  this  morning,  —  you  young  people,  at  least,  —  up 
at  the  fort,  where  services  are  held.  The  seats  are  only 
benches,  and  like  as  not  you  will  have  a  prosy  sermon,  and 
all  you  will  gain  from  it  will  be  a  lesson  in  patience.  But 
it  will  do  you  good,  nevertheless ;  and  perhaps  this  young 
lady,  who  looks  very  accomplished,  can  help  the  singing 
along." 

And  so  it  happened  that  the  Doctor  and  Mr.  Wacker- 
shouser,  Katharine  and  the  Colonel,  climbed  to  the  top  of 
the  steep  hill,  where,  perched  upon  the  height,  was  the 
little  fort  with  its  chapel.  The  Doctor  grew  rather  drowsy, 
and  nodded  once  or  twice  during  the  sermon ;  Mr.  Wacker- 
shouser  bent  his  head  forward  and  lifted  up  his  ear  to  catch 
the  words  of  wisdom,  with  a  touch  of  the  same  avidity 
which  had  characterized  him  as  a  listener  to  utterances  of 
quite  another  sort. 

The  other  two  looked  over  the  same  book,  and  contri- 
buted a  light  soprano  and  a  full  bass  to  the  hymns ;  and 
they  did  not  grow  drowsy,  and  they  did  not  "  lend  their 
ears  "  to  the  sermon  ;  neither  did  the  time  seem  long. 

Colonel  Allston  was  conscious  of  a  faint  breath  of  English 
violet  whenever  Miss  Kennard  moved,  and  he  speculated 
as  to  the  number  of  the  perfectly  fitting  glove  on  the  slen- 
der hand  that  held  one  side  of  the  hymn-book,  and  won- 
dered how  the  young  ladies  of  the  period  could  produce 
fresh  gloves  and  perfumed  laces  at  a  moment's  notice, 
wherever  they  might  be  stranded. 

After  service  the  Colonel  showed  a  soldier's  interest  in  the 
fort  and  all  its  belongings,  and  Katharine  took  a  woman's 
interest  in  the  guard- house  that  had  held  rebel  prisoners 
not  long  before.  The  Doctor  lingered  in  the  sick  ward  of 


106  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

the  hospital,  where  there  chanced  to  be  an  unusual  case. 
Mr.  Wackershouser,  with  his  hands  behind  him,  listened 
and  gazed  around ;  heard  every  word  that  was  spoken ; 
dropped  into  memory  a  picture  of  the  little  fort,  enclosed 
in  its  irregular  white  wall,  the  fringe  of  houses  along  the 
shore  below,  the  unruffled  sheet  of  water,  "  bluer  than  the 
sky"  beyond,  and  across  in  the  distance  the  Michigan 
shore :  but  never  a  word  he  said. 

After  dinner  came  the  ramble  over  to  the  Arched  Rock. 
The  atmosphere  was  laden  with  the  fragrance  of  resinous 
trees ;  the  ground  strewn  with  shining  pine-needles ;  and 
ferns  by  the  thousands  bordered  the  pathways  and  graced 
the  secluded  glens.  The  air  was  like  nectar ;  mere  exist- 
ence was  delight.  The  walk  was  not  long,  and  their  desti- 
nation burst  on  them  as  a  surprise.  One  moment  shut  in 
on  every  side  by  trees,  the  next  a  gleam  of  water  through 
the  meshes  of  green,  and  then,  directly  before  them,  the 
outlining  rock  of  the  island  was  arched  into  the  setting  of 
a  great  sparkling,  limpid  sapphire  as  one  looked  through 
the  oval  opening  to  the  lake  beyond. 

"  How  perfectly  entrancing  ! "  exclaimed  Katharine  to 
her  companion.  She  neared  the  edge  of  the  precipice  and 
recklessly  advanced  towards  the  crown  of  the  arch,  with  a 
desire  to  stand  upon  the  very  summit  of  the  curving  bridge  ; 
she  felt  as  sure  of  her  poise  as  a  bird.  The  Colonel  saw 
her  danger,  but  did  not  dare  to  startle  her. 

"  Wait  for  me,  Miss  Harebell ;  that 's  not  the  rock  for 
you  to  climb.  Keep  your  courage  until  it  is  needed,"  he 
said,  in  a  tone  that  arrested  her  until  she  was  within  his 
reach.  "  Now  take  my  hand,  please,  and  return  with  me." 
She  gave  her  hand,  and  he  held  it  firmly  until  they  were  on 
secure  ground. 

"  You  did  not  really  think  that  was  unsafe  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  A  single  misstep,  and  all  would  have  been  over  for  you 


CUPID  IN  A    CEMETERY. 

in  this  world,  I  imagine."  And  Katharine  suddenly  rea- 
lized that  life  seemed  very  precious. 

They  were  joined  by  the  loitering  members  of  their  party 
and  others  from  the  hotel ;  but  it  was  not  long  before  the 
two  again  wandered  off  together  in  search  of  some  charmed 
spring,  to  which  all  young  fortune-seekers  who  arrive  at 
Mackinac  are  directed.  The  careless  young  ramblers  soon 
lost  their  way,  and  their  vagrant  footsteps  led  them  at  last 
into  an  old  burying-ground,  where  the  pioneers  of  the  island 
life  had  been  laid  to  rest.  The  graves  were  not  many,  and 
the  most  of  them  were  neglected  by  all  but  Nature,  who 
had  taken  her  forgotten  children  back  into  her  bosom,  and 
kept  the  mounds  covered  with  fresh  verdure  through  all 
the  summers. 

Katharine  was  quite  ready  for  a  rest ;  and  dropping  upon 
the  grass,  she  leaned  back  against  an  old  tombstone  that 
was  stained  by  time  and  settled  aslant  into  the  earth. 
Flecks  of  sunshine,  filtering  through  an  overhanging  birch- 
tree,  sprinkled  with  drops  of  light  her  suit  of  brown  and 
gilded  the  quivering  plume  that  wreathed  her  hat.  A  slight 
weariness  had  subdued  her  animation,  but  she  looked  se- 
renely happy,  and  face  and  attitude  expressed  complete 
repose. 

The  eyes  of  the  vigorous  young  soldier  beamed  with 
pleasure  as  he  looked  upon  her,  and  he  honestly  believed 
that  there  was  not  a  lovelier  girl  in  all  the  universe.  Robert 
scarcely  knew  how  it  was  that  he  fell  to  talking  of  himself; 
he  was  certainly  not  conscious  of  his  growing  desire  that 
Katharine  should  be  familiar  with  all  of  his  life  :  but  as  his 
friendship  for  her  seemed  in  some  way  to  date  back  of  mem- 
ory, it  was  surely  but  natural  that  she  should  know  some- 
thing of  his  history.  Her  quick,  responsive  interest  and 
sympathy  were  more  welcome  to  him  than  he  realized. 

"When  I  entered  Columbia  College,"  he  was  saying, 


108  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

"  of  course  I  had  no  thought  of  becoming  a  soldier ;  I  was 
to  be  an  architect.  It  was  my  father's  wish  that  I  should 
receive  a  liberal  education,  and  he  had  been  a  Columbia 
man  himself.  I  was  graduated  in  1859,  studied  in  New 
York  until  the  following  May,  then  went  abroad  for  another 
year  for  the  purpose  of  continuing  my  studies  and  seeing 
the  best  architecture  of  Europe.  It  was,  as  you  can  fancy, 
a  most  delightful  experience ;  and  every  hour  that  I  spent 
there  was  of  value  to  me.  Early  in  the  spring  of '61  I  was 
telegraphed  that  my  father  was  dangerously  ill.  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  thankful  I  have  been  that  I  was  not  too  late. 
I  had  no  recollection  of  the  mother  who  died  so  long  be- 
fore, and  my  father  and  I  were  strongly  attached.  I  felt 
very  much  alone  in  the  world  after  his  death.  The  war  had 
just  begun,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  me  to  enter  the  army.  I 
remember  thinking  that  I  was  one  who  certainly  ought  to 
enlist,  because  no  one  would  be  the  less  happy  if  I  were 
killed.  My  father,  like  myself,  was  an  only  child,  and  I 
have  seen  very  little  of  my  mother's  relatives,  so  that  I 
have  no  family  ties.  I  Ve  never  been  much  with  ladies, 
and  you  can't  imagine  what  a  pleasure  it  is  to  me  to  have 
met  you  again.  I  used  to  think  of  you,  and  to  hope  that 
some  day  we  should  meet  again.  I  did  not  know  where 
you  lived,  except  that  it  was  in  some  Western  city,  and  I 
remembered  that  you  spoke  of  living  beside  a  lake  ;  but  I 
was  at  a  loss  between  Cleveland  and  Milwaukee.  Still,  it 
is  a  little  world  that  we  live  in,  and  people  who  want  to 
meet  again  are  likely  to  do  so.  I  kept  the  rose  that  you 
gave  me  '  for  good-luck  and  a  safe  return,'  and  you  see  I 
am  safely  returned,  and  have  had  the  good-luck  to  find 
you.  I  have  the  rose  with  me  now,  and  I  'm  going  to  ask 
you  to  accept  a  little  wild-flower  in  return." 

He  showed  her  the  faded  tea-rose  bud  in  its  envelope, 
dated  December  29,  1863. 


CUPID  IN  A    CEMETERY.  109 

"  The  flower  that  I  have  for  you  is  this  edelweiss,  that  I 
gathered  myself  from  its  nook  in  the  Alps.  Yes,  it 's  the 
genuine  thing,  and  it  cost  me  a  breathless  climb.  I  have 
kept  it  waiting  for  the  right  one.  I  felt  sure  that  one  day 
I  should  find  a  friend  to  whom  I  might  offer  it  with  its 
sacred  German  sentiment.  I  have  found  the  friend,  Miss 
Kennard.  May  I  write  August  10,  1865,  on  the  wrapper 
that  encloses  the  flower?  and  will  you  keep  it  as  a  sou- 
venir of  this  day  that  we  have  passed  together?  I  really 
think  it  has  been  the  pleasantest  day  of  my  life,  and  it 
makes  me  want  to  give  you  my  edelweiss." 

This  frank  avowal  of  a  delicate  and  generous  regard, 
the  offer  of  this  tender,  downy  exotic,  embodying  at  once 
the  poetry  of  compliment  and  of  friendship,  was  a  direct 
appeal  to  something  in  Katharine's  nature  hitherto  un- 
touched—  the  key-note  that  Irvington's  grasping  passion 
had  inevitably  missed. 

As  the  flower  changed  hands,  neither  of  the  two  dreamed 
that  this  frail,  snowy  edelweiss,  which  the  lightest  breeze 
might  have  borne  into  oblivion,  was  the  outward  and  visi- 
ble sign  of  the  spiritual  grace  of  mutual  and  abiding  trust. 
Neither  of  them  thought  of  love,  nor  cared  to  analyze  their 
emotions.  Mackinac  air,  August  sunshine,  and  birch-tree 
shade ;  youth,  health,  a  companionship  so  congenial  as  to 
seem  one  of  the  old-time  things,  yet  so  new  as  to  give  a 
delicious  thrill  of  interest  to  every  topic,  —  all  contributed 
to  their  complete  enjoyment,  and  made  this  hour  as  perfect 
in  actual  experience  as  such  hours  are  likely  to  be  only  in 
hope  or  in  remembrance. 

Heaven  and  earth  seemed  to  be  in  league  around  them ; 
but  little  were  they  aware  of  it.  They  were  far  enough 
from  the  self-centred  condition  of  the  ardent  German  lover 
who  asserts  that  all  the  stars  keep  watch  in  heaven  while 
he  sings  to  his  lady-love. 


IIO  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

And  yet  when  they  discovered  the  simple  fact  that 
Colonel  Allston  owned  property  in  Milwaukee,  and  was 
now  on  his  way  to  that  city,  both  regarded  this  fact  as  a 
sort  of  special  providence,  and,  like  all  special  providences, 
at  once  natural  and  surprising. 

When  Colonel  Allston  boarded  the  "  Montgomery,"  it  was 
Chicago  that  he  had  in  view  as  the  point  likely  to  afford 
the  most  desirable  opening  for  an  architect.  Milwaukee 
was  incidental  on  account  of  business,  as  he  contemplated 
building  on  his  lot  in  that  city ;  but  Chicago  was  looked 
upon  as  his  ultimate  destination. 

And  here  was  Miss  Kennard  earnestly  descanting  upon 
the  superior  advantages  of  her  native  city.  With  the  eager- 
ness of  an  interested  advocate  she  was  telling  Colonel 
Allston  that  Milwaukee  was  the  most  unique  and  lovely 
place  in  all  the  West,  a  city  set  on  a  hill  in  more  senses 
than  one,  looking  down  on  beautiful  Lake  Michigan  on  one 
side,  and  losing  itself  in  sylvan  woods  on  the  other.  The 
Colonel  should  know  the  enchanting  drives  about  Mil- 
waukee. And  now  the  adventurous  look  in  her  eyes  told 
plainly  enough  that  her  imagination  was  off  on  a  cruise, 
not  to  be  turned  from  its  course  by  anything  so  unimpor- 
tant as  facts  or  probabilities ;  and  somewhere  away  in  these 
romantic  forests  was  the  Soldiers'  Home,  all  ready  for  the 
Colonel  in  case  he  should  not  succeed  as  an  architect,  or 
when  he  grew  old  and  helpless ;  and  then  she  would  per- 
haps drive  out  to  see  him,  and  put  on  her  spectacles  and 
read  to  him  out  of  some  book  with  big  print.  And  the 
two  young  creatures  laughed  at  the  idea,  as  if  old  age  were 
simply  an  imaginary  absurdity  of  which  they  could  have 
no  actual  experience,  as  if  independent  luxury  were  one  of 
the  conditions  of  their  existence. 

It  was  true,  she  went  on,  that  there  were  vacant  lots  in 
Milwaukee,  and  the  architecture  of  the  city  might  be  called 


CUPID  IN  A    CEMETERY.  ill 

crude,  perhaps,  —  she  was  hovering  over  old  Athens  in  her 
aerial  flight  just  now,  —  but  all  the  greater  opportunity  was 
open  to  the  genius  of  a  young  architect ;  and  she,  Katha- 
rine Kennard,  might  yet  be  proud  to  claim  as  her  birth- 
place the  city  distinguished  by  the  magnificent  buildings 
erected  under  the  direction  of  the  famous  Robert  Allston. 

The  architect  of  the  future  smiled  at  the  wonderful  air- 
castles  reflected  in  Katharine's  eyes.  Chicago,  with  her 
miles  of  elevators  and  vast  expanse  of  out-lying  flats  !  Perish 
the  thought !  By  the  time  that  Katharine  and  her  compan- 
ion came  within  sight  of  the  Mission  House  on  their  return, 
the  Colonel  was  almost  convinced  that  he  had  never  seri- 
ously contemplated  making  Chicago  his  home. 

It  was  not  a  chorus  of  children's  voices  that  greeted  their 
return  to  the  hotel,  it  was  the  "  Warblings  at  Eve,"  which 
seemed  struggling  to  free  itself  from  the  clumsy  —  what  a 
Chicago  teacher  designates  "  the  sticky  "  —  fingers  of 
some  musical  novice.  The  evening  was  cool,  and  the  little 
stove  in  the  parlor  gave  out  an  odor  of  fresh  blacking  and 
the  sound  of  dry,  crackling  wood.  Baby  Benedict  on  her 
mamma's  lap  cooed  away  in  serene  enjoyment  of  the  heat. 
Mrs.  Whitney  chatted  with  Mrs.  Benedict,  and  stroked  the 
glossy  braids  of  a  pretty  black-eyed  girl  who  sat  on  a  foot- 
stool at  her  feet,  gorgeously  arrayed  in  a  dark,  wine-colored 
fabric  embroidered  in  gold  braid. 

Mrs.  Whitney  introduced  the  strangers  to  the  black-eyed 
young  girl,  who,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  lying  in  wait  for  them. 
There  was  a  dearth  of  young  men  that  season  to  admire  her 
elaborate  costumes  and  her  flashing  eyes,  and  she  was 
thinking  that  it  was  high  time  for  the  return  of  the  Colonel 
whom  she  had  seen  at  dinner.  She  lost  no  time  in  engaging 
him  in  conversation,  while  Dr.  Kennard  and  Mr.  Bene- 
dict joined  the  group,  and  they  all  repaired  to  the  dining- 
room.  Mrs.  Whitney  and  Katharine  sat  next  each  other  at 


I  12  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

supper,  and  made  such  rapid  advance  in  acquaintance  that 
Katharine  arranged  a  meeting  in  Milwaukee  when  Mrs. 
Whitney  should  be  on  her  way  back  to  Chicago. 

A  whistle  from  the  "  Montgomery  "  gave  warning  of  the 
time  for  departure.  In  the  midst  of  the  hurried  adieus 
Mrs.  Whitney  drew  Katharine  up  affectionately,  saying,  — 

"  I  want  to  kiss  you  good-by,  my  dear,  because  you  are 
so  sweet." 

And  Katharine  answered :  "  I  'm  sure  I  am  not  half  as 
lovely  as  you  are." 

Colonel  Allston  and  Dr.  Kennard  smiled  at  this  swiftly 
developed  love-passage ;  and  then  the  Mission  House  and 
its  inmates  were  left  behind  as  the  travellers  wended  their 
way  towards  the  steamer. 

The  usual  family  group  in  the  cabin  was  disintegrated 
that  evening,  and  Dr.  Kennard  and  his  daughter  had  a  quiet 
talk  apart  from  the  others.  The  Doctor  had  a  welcome 
piece  of  news  for  his  daughter.  In  the  Mackinac  post- 
office  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Kennard  had  awaited  him,  bring- 
ing the  intelligence  that  Mr.  Irvington  had  gone  to  Omaha 
on  business,  and  according  to  Miss  Crissfield  might  leave 
Milwaukee  altogether,  as  he  hated  the  place  and  seemed 
desirous  to  try  his  fortunes  farther  West.  "  Dora  told  me," 
the  writer  added,  "  that  he  really  seemed  so  savage  that  she 
advised  him  to  go  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  hunt  bears 
for  a  while,  as  a  safe  outlet  for  his  destructive  energies. 
Dora  is  rather  too  reckless  in  her  use  of  strong  expressions," 
commented  the  gentle  writer.  "  I  never  found  Mr.  Irving- 
ton  more  agreeable  than  when  he  came  around  to  see  me 
the  evening  after  you  left.  He  spoke  just  beautifully  of 
Katharine,  and  seemed  right  concerned  about  her  health. 
He  said  nothing  about  going  West." 

The  very  mention  of  Irvington's  name  brought  a  cloud 
over  Katharine's  face,  recalling  the  wretched  period  of  her 


CUPID  IN  A    CEMETERY.  113 

existence  which  the  past  ten  days  had  done  much  to  oblit- 
erate. She  had  dreaded  the  return  home  whenever  she 
had  thought  of  Mr.  Irvington,  and  the  anticipation  of  any- 
thing beyond  life  on  the  "  Montgomery  "  was  resolutely  set 
aside.  But  now  she  felt  that  she  could  trust  her  future 
fearlessly. 

The  following  day,  like  the  last  day  of  all  pleasure-trips, 
was  so  laden  with  remembrance  of  the  days  recently  passed, 
and  with  preparations  for  the  return  just  at  hand,  that  it 
seemed  to  have  no  character  of  its  own.  Katharine  gos- 
sipped  with  Mrs.  Benedict,  and  played  with  Baby  Lulu ; 
while  Colonel  Allston  had  a  long  business  talk  with  Doctor 
Kennard,  and  the  judge  and  Mr.  Wackershouser  quite 
seriously  discussed  Madam  Smith. 

Teddy  Nicholson  watched  his  chance  and  took  pos- 
session of  Miss  Kennard  for  a  little  while,  and  promised  to 
look  her  up  in  Milwaukee  the  first  time  the  "  Montgomery  " 
gave  him  opportunity.  There  was  the  inevitable  distraction 
of  packing  and  gathering  together  of  the  scattered  odds 
and  ends  of  personal  possessions.  Madam  Smith's  neg- 
lected novels  abounded,  and  were  distributed  by  the 
captain  as  keepsakes.  Mr.  Wackershouser's  volume  was 
consecrated  by  a  delicate  memorial  inscription  in  Katharine's 
handwriting  on  the  fly-leaf. 

The  unnoticed  hours  slipped  into  the  past,  and  daylight 
took  on  the  warmer  hues  of  sunset. 

"  How  I  shall  miss  the  baby  !  "  said  Doctor  Kennard, 
who  was  actually  rocking  the  child  to  sleep. 

"Will  you  come  up  on  the  hurricane-deck  with  me  and 
look  for  the  stars  to  come  out?"  asked  Colonel  Allston  of 
Katharine  Kennard;  and  Katharine  went. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

HALCYON  DAYS. 

jjOBERT  ALLSTON,  Architect,"  was  the  letter- 
ing outside  of  the  door  of  a  second-floor  front 
room  in  a  new  building  on  one  of  the  main 
business-streets  of  Milwaukee.  Within  the 
office  sat  the  architect  himself  one  evening  during  the 
April  following  his  arrival  in  the  city.  Interest  and  pleasure 
in  his  occupation  were  plainly  visible  in  his  expression  as 
he  bent  over  a  table  on  which  were  scattered  plans  of 
residences.  Unconsciously  he  was  whistling,  in  a  sort  of 
whisper,  "Katy  Darling,"  —  a  flat  little  tune  set  to  inane 
little  verses,  a  popular  possession  of  organ-grinders  before  the 
era  of  the  war,  and  a  song  that  asserted  itself  in  spasmodic 
flashes  in  camp.  Since  he  had  a  Katy  darling  of  his  own, 
Allston  had  adopted  the  air  with  the  uncritical  pleasure  with 
which  he  received  everything  remotely  suggesting  his  own 
precious  possession. 

On  this  particular  evening  he  was  putting  in  the  finishing 
touches  to  a  plan  in  which  he  had  embodied  his  own  idea 
of  a  home ;  and  the  next  day  he  was  going  to  claim  an 
immediate  reward  for  the  work,  for  not  long  before  his 
sweetheart  had  said  :  "  When  you  show  me  a  plan  for  our 
house,  then  I  '11  consider  the  wedding-day." 


HAL  CYON  DA  VS.  1 1 5 

When  he  replied,  "  Let  us  set  the  wedding-day  first,  and 
then  plan  the  house  together,"  she  had  answered  that  she 
wished  this  future  home  to  be  presented  for  her  considera- 
tion full  grown  and  complete. 

The  lot  on  which  they  were  to  build  was  Katharine's 
Christmas  present  from  her  father ;  and  as  the  house  was 
to  be  a  gift  from  her  mother,  Mrs.  Kennard  was  naturally 
expected  to  be  an  authority  in  its  construction. 

However,  she  confined  herself  to  only  the  most  general 
suggestions  and  to  but  a  single  stipulation,  —  that  not  one 
"  Milwaukee  brick  "  should  be  visible. 

"  There  should  be  plenty  of  closets,  Robert,"  she  said. 

"  And  broad,  airy  windows  and  a  wide  piazza. ;  and  that 's 
all  I'm  going  to  ask,"  added  Katharine  as  she  left  the 
room  in  order  to  keep  her  resolution. 

"  I  '11  tell  you,  Robert,"  said  his  prospective  mother-in- 
law,  "  I'  11  tell  you  what  I  would  like,  if  you  will  promise  to 
remember  that  I  would  really  rather  have  you  and  Kath- 
arine suit  yourselves  than  suit  me.  Ever  since  we  talked 
of  the  house  I  have  been  haunted  by  the  lovely  homes  I 
saw  in  Europe,  —  I  don't  mean  the  ones  just  made  up  of 
a  promiscuous  collection  of  angles  and  gables,  and  chim- 
neys crawling  up  over  the  outside,  and  upper  stories  with 
the  foundations  resting  on  air,  and  the  ceilings  joining  the 
floors.  Every  now  and  then  I  saw  a  house  that  looked  like 
a  home,  that  seemed  to  have  been  developed  from  the  inside 
outward,  —  like  the  Doctor's  idea  of  developing  character, 
—  with  corners  cut  off  in  order  to  secure  the  best  light  or 
the  best  view,  or  a  single  outside  chimney,  with  a  broad 
base  planted  square  on  a  cold  northwest  corner,  as  if  defy- 
ing the  elements  from  their  point  of  vantage,  and  telling  at 
a  glance  of  a  warm  interior." 

Now  these  suggestions  from  Mrs.  Kennard  Robert  instantly 
translated  into  the  most  welcome  sanction  of  his  own  par- 


Il6  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

ticular  views  in  regard  to  a  desirable  home.  He,  too,  had 
been  haunted  by  houses  not  made  in  America,  and  the 
heart  of  architect  and  lover  exulted.  After  agreeing  upon 
stone  for  the  exterior,  and  hard-wood  finished  in  the  natural 
grain  for  the  interior,  the  consultation  was  concluded,  and 
Robert  left  free  to  draw  up  his  plans. 

Allston  was  a  young  man  of  decided  and  sensible  views : 
he  set  a  high  value  on  beauty,  but  cared  nothing  for 
display.  While  gratifying  his  own  taste  with  a  view  to 
Katharine's  also,  and  seeking  to  give  to  each  room,  each 
nook  and  corner,  its  own  individual  attraction  and  adapta- 
tion to  the  use  for  which  it  was  designed,  he  yet  adhered 
to  simplicity  in  plan  and  detail,  that  the  care  of  the  home 
might  not  be  a  burden  to  the  young  housekeeper.  In 
no  instance  was  practical  convenience  sacrificed  to  aesthetic 
effect. 

He  knew  that  Katharine's  views  of  life  were  simple,  like 
his  own,  and  that  both  must  be  the  losers  were  the  house 
to  be  made  a  prime  object  of  existence.  He  had  found 
his  lady-love  free  from  the  cares  of  poverty,  and  he  meant 
to  protect  her,  at  least  in  her  own  home,  from  the  care  of 
riches.  Every  line  in  his  plans  was  drawn  con  amore,  and 
the  spaces  were  filled  with  glad  anticipations  of  the  coming 
years. 

When  all  seemed  complete,  with  pencil  still  in  hand  he 
ran  his  eye  critically  over  the  finished  details,  and  mentally 
summed  up  again  the  modifications  proposed  in  case  the 
plan  did  not  prove  wholly  acceptable  to  Mrs.  Kennard  and 
Katharine ;  and  then,  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction,  he  laid 
aside  the  drawing  and  locked  his  office  for  the  night. 

It  had  been  a  prosperous  year  for  Robert  Allston.  His 
first  venture  was  the  erection  upon  his  own  lot  of  the  build- 
ing in  which  his  office  was  now  located.  The  building  was 
already  returning  a  good  rental,  and  had  proved  an  excel- 


HAL  C  YON  DA  YS.  1 1 7 

lent  advertisement.  He  enjoyed  his  profession  heartily; 
he  studied  and  worked  with  energy,  and  found  the  flavor 
of  business  success  very  agreeable.  Then  there  were  the 
Sundays,  and  the  evenings  with  Katharine. 

Elsie  Vandyne  had  returned  home  the  spring  before, 
seeming  many  years  older  than  the  bride  who  went  away ; 
but  she  was  resting,  and  growing  young  again,  and  her 
second  mourning,  in  soft  grays  and  lavenders,  was  most  be- 
coming. She  was  a  very  little  girl  when  her  family  came  to 
America,  but  the  German  nature  held  its  own ;  and  though 
her  accent  was  pure,  she  retained  many  German  forms  of 
speech  when  she  forgot  herself,  —  and  she  usually  did  for- 
get herself.  She  took  a  decided  liking  to  Robert  Allston, 
who  had  been  a  soldier,  and  was  such  a  frank  and  true- 
hearted  man,  and  always  so  tender  and  thoughtful  towards 
Katharine. 

There  were  delightful  musical  evenings  at  the  Brentanos, 
when  Miss  Crissfield  and  Mr.  Voss,  and  Katharine  and 
Robert,  met  there,  as  they  often  did.  The  old  Professor 
gloried  in  the  musical  development  of  his  favorite  pupil, 
and  approved  her  preference  for  a  man  who  could  sing 
Schumann  and  enjoy  smoking.  It  was  not  long  before 
Katharine's  sympathetic  perception  had  divined  a  grow- 
ing attraction  towards  Mrs.  Vandyne  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Voss ;  and  her  suspicion  received  confirmation  when  one 
evening  Mr.  Voss  said  to  her,  — 

"  Is  it  not  strange,  Miss  Kennard,  that  it  is  in  America 
that  I  have  found  a  woman  with  just  the  pure  and  simple 
nature  of  Goethe's  Dorothea?  " 

But  however  agreeable  the  musical  and  social  gatherings 
might  be,  Robert  missed  in  them  the  charm  of  the  quiet 
evenings  spent  with  Katharine  alone.  The  young  lady  was 
studying  the  history  of  architecture,  and  under  Allston's 
direction  it  proved  a  very  fascinating  subject,  while  Kath- 


Il8  HIS  BROKEN"  SWORD. 

arine's  real  interest  in  his  chosen  pursuit  was  a  source  of 
great  pleasure  to  her  lover. 

So  steadily  and  so  naturally  had  their  friendship  de- 
veloped affection  that  the  growing  of  their  love  was  like  the 
change  from  dawn  into  the  light  of  day.  Before  either  of 
them  was  aware  of  it,  the  two  lives  were  blended  into  one 
indivisible  existence.  The  doubts  and  fears,  the  misunder- 
standings and  variations  which  seem  to  form  the  very  tissue 
of  many  love  affairs,  were  unknown  to  them.  But  even 
the  most  complete  and  perfect  affection  must  have  its  out- 
ward recognition  —  preceded  by  its  hour  of  uncertainty  — 
before  the  sacred  feeling  can  be  exposed,  before  it  can 
be  intrusted  to  audible  expression.  There  seem  to  be  no 
words  fine  and  delicate  enough  to  convey  the  precious 
message  from  heart  to  heart  And  so  it  happened  that  the 
gallant  Colonel  quailed  before  the  soft  hazel  eyes  of  the 
girl  that  he  loved. 

The  fateful  hour  had  fallen  on  a  Sunday  late  in  the  pre- 
vious autumn.  The  lovers  had  gone  for  a  walk  beside  the 
lake,  and  finding  a  secluded  spot,  with  a  fallen  tree  for  a 
seat,  had  taken  possession.  It  was  a  mellow  afternoon, 
toned  with  the  mystic  haze  of  Indian  summer.  The  blue 
of  the  lake  was  merged  into  changing  tints  of  amethyst ;  its 
quiet  expanse  was  flecked  here  and  there  with  the  sails 
of  distant  vessels  or  nearer  pleasure-boats,  while  lines  of 
snowy  gulls  drifted  by,  away  into  the  fading  distance.  The 
veiled  sunlight  glowed,  but  did  not  seem  to  shine. 

For  years  after,  that  soft  sky,  that  lake  of  trembling  ame- 
thyst, the  white  sails  and  the  circling  gulls  were  mirrored 
in  Katharine's  heart. 

The  young  girl  felt  a  premonition  of  the  coming  words, 
but  rested  secure  in  her  woman's  kingdom.  "  Not  hers  to 
do  or  dare." 

"  Katharine,  I  want  to  tell  you  a  secret,  —  it  is  an  open 


HAL  C  YON  DA  YS.  119 

secret,  I  know;  but  I  must  tell  it  to  you  all  the  same. 
Please  give  me  your  hand  for  courage." 

Katharine  gave  the  hand,  but  her  eyes  rested  on  a  far- 
away sail. 

"  I  think  I  want  the  other  hand  too,  Katharine." 

She  again  answered  the  demand,  but  she  could  not  help 
it  that  the  two  little  hands  trembled  as  the  larger  ones 
closed  around  them. 

"  And  now  I  want  your  heart,  Katie  darling,  —  I  want 
you  altogether;  because,  you  know,  dear — "  and  here 
Katharine's  eyes  met  his  own ;  and  how  the  rest  was 
said,  neither  of  them  ever  knew. 

Once  their  love  was  spoken,  what  a  wonderful  and 
beautiful  thing  it  suddenly  seemed,  —  arching  from  earth  to 
heaven.  This  great  expanse  of  light  and  joy  could  not  be 
held  in  life  and  time,  but  must  reach  over  into  eternity. 

That  same  evening,  before  church,  Katharine  contrived 
to  have  a  brief  interview  with  her  father.  The  Doctor  was 
in  his  study  when  his  daughter  came  in  and  opened  her 
proceedings  with  a  fond  caress.  Her  face  was  radiant  with 
the  inner  joy  that  betrayed  itself  through  shining  eyes  and 
dimpling  smiles. 

"  What  do  people  do,  papa,  when  they  are  so  happy  that 
they  don't  know  how  to  live  ?  " 

The  Doctor  drew  her  down  beside  him  on  the  arm  of  his 
chair,  knowing  well  that  her  present  happiness  meant  com- 
ing separation  from  him. 

"  Oh  !  they  manage  to  put  up  with  life,  somehow ;  they 
don't  seem  to  want  to  die,"  he  answered. 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  Katharine  whispered,  not 
quite  certain  that  she  had  courage  to  speak  in  her  usual 
tone. 

"  I  know  it  already ;  you  don't  need  to  tell  me." 

"  But  you  can't  know  it,  for  it  has  only  just  happened." 


I2O  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

"  I  Ve  seen  it  coming  for  weeks  back ;  I  know  there  is 
only  one  thing  that  could  put  you  into  this  state  of  blissful 
ecstasy.  And,  moreover,  some  one  had  a  talk  with  me  last 
evening,  —  some  one  who  had  the  good  old-fashioned  notion 
that  it  was  better  to  consult  the  father  before  offering  him- 
self to  the  daughter.  I  will  admit  to  you,  my  dear,  that  his 
course  gratified  me  exceedingly.  It  was  not  only  a  mark  ot 
respect  to  me,  but  it  showed  his  appreciation  of  your  value." 

"  And  how  like  Robert  it  was  !  I  hope  you  made  it  easy 
for  him." 

"  I  don't  think  he  found  it  difficult.  He  knew  that  he 
was  asking  a  great  deal  when  he  asked  for  you,  and  he  took 
the  matter  seriously ;  but  he  came  directly  to  the  point,  as 
he  always  does." 

"  And  you  can  give  me  to  him  more  easily  than  to  any 
one  else  in  all  the  world.  Don't  you  feel  that  ?  " 

"  I  think  your  happiness  will  be  safe  with  him.  Robert 
is  a  good  man,  —  I  am  sure  of  that.  He  is  upright  and  en- 
ergetic ;  he  has  the  finest  delicacy,  and  I  don't  believe  it  is 
in  him  to  be  unkind  to  woman  or  child.  Probably  he  has 
a  temper,  —  it  is  almost  inseparable  from  an  organization 
like  his." 

"  Well,  I  should  not  want  him  to  be  altogether  perfect, 
you  know ;  I  should  be  afraid  he  would  die.  Temper  is  a 
good  thing  sometimes,  I  suppose.  Papa,  were  you  ever 
angry  —  downright  angry  —  in  your  life  ?  " 

At  the  moment  the  Doctor  actually  could  not  remember 
such  an  event ;  but  as  he  would  not  confess  it  to  the  some- 
what high-spirited  young  questioner,  he  took  refuge  in  the 
evasion,  — 

"  Never  with  my  wife  or  daughter ;  but  they  are  respon- 
sible, not  I.  Some  one  is  calling  you." 

"  Well,  good-bye,  then  ;  I  think  you  are  in  love  with 
Robert  too,  papa,"  she  said,  bestowing  a  parting  caress. 


HALCYON  DAYS.  121 

The  Doctor  wished  that  his  wife  were  as  heartily  in  favor 
of  this  engagement  as  he  was.  Love  of  the  South  was  in- 
grained in  Mrs.  Kennard's  nature,  and  Colonel  Allston  had 
fought  on  Maryland  soil, — perhaps  in  direct  combat  with 
her  own  relatives ;  and  that  she  could  never  forget.  How- 
ever well  she  liked  the  man,  the  soldier  touched  a  most 
sensitive  spot.  Katharine  knew  this,  and  a  second  time  it 
was  hard  to  confide  in  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Kennard  saw  how  matters  were  drifting,  but  she 
had  the  justice  to  admit  that  her  feeling  towards  the  South 
ought  not  to  assert  itself  then.  Not  even  her  husband 
knew  what  it  cost  her  to  accept  the  engagement  kindly 
and  cordially;  but  after  it  was  a  settled  thing  she  grew 
more  reconciled.  Allston  himself  divined  something  of  her 
feeling,  and  liked  her  none  the  less  for  her  loyalty  to  early 
ties,  affections,  and  associations.  He  never  referred  to  the 
war  in  her  presence,  and  if  by  chance  the  subject  came  up, 
he  always  spoke  generously  of  the  South. 

As  months  passed,  and  she  saw  the  happiness  of  the 
lovers  growing  more  evident,  Mrs.  Kennard's  secret  res- 
ervation was  buried  deeper  and  deeper.  Robert's  desire 
to  win  her  affection,  and  his  unfailing  deference  to  her 
wishes  and  opinions,  had  their  effect ;  for  this  gentle  lady 
was  a  born  autocrat. 

The  conquest  was  complete  on  the  Sunday  when  All- 
ston offered  his  designs  for  the  house  for  Mrs.  Kennard's 
approval.  She  looked  them  all  over  before  expressing  her 
opinion. 

"  It  is  perfect,  absolutely  perfect !  Kathie,  do  look  at  this, 
and  let  Robert  alone  for  a  minute.  I  had  no  idea  you 
were  so  much  of  an  architect,  Robert." 

"  You  don't  expect  me  to  believe  that  that  little  chateau- 
like  object  is  intended  to  represent  our  home  —  a  house 
in  Milwaukee  !  "  exclaimed  Katharine  in  complete  amaze- 


122  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

ment ;  for  she  had  not  been  enlightened  as  to  the  style  of 
architecture  contemplated  by  the  two  fond  conspirators. 

"Don't  you  like  it,  Katie?"  anxiously  inquired  Allston. 

"  Don't  be  absurd,  dear,"  the  girl  answered ;  "  I  never 
saw  so  beautiful  a  house.  I  know  that  I  shall  change  into 
a  princess  if  ever  I  live  in  it.  Mother,  had  you  any  idea 
what  this  boy  was  thinking  about  ?  Is  n't  it  wholly  imprac- 
ticable ? "  she  demanded,  with  a  lofty  assumption  of  ma- 
turer  wisdom. 

"  It  was  your  mother  who  suggested  the  departure  from 
regulation  Western  exteriors." 

"  It  is  striking  at  the  very  root  of  our  civilization ;  under- 
mining our  democratic  ideas  of  good  square  houses  or- 
namented with  fringes  of  sawed  wood.  I  've  studied 
architecture,  and  know  its  dangerous  tendencies ; "  and 
the  witches  of  her  childhood  were  dancing  in  her  eyes. 

"  Kathie  Kennard,  did  you  ever  live  in  a  square  house  ?  " 
was  her  mother's  placid  inquiry. 

"  I  was  thinking  last  evening,"  interposed  Robert, 
"that,  after  all,  this  new  house  might  be  a  lineal  descend- 
ant of  your  present  home.  You  remember,  Katharine, 
when  I  first  saw  it,  how  delighted  I  was  with  this  irregular 
stone  building,  looking  so  substantial  and  home-like  and 
individual." 

"  I  remember,  and  I  was  so  glad  that  you  liked  it,"  said 
Katharine.  Deserting  her  democratic  principles,  and  joy- 
fully embracing  the  idea  of  a  modern-antique  home  of  her 
own,  she  turned  to  her  mother :  "  Only  fancy,  mother, 
what  a  trousseau  will  be  necessary  for  the  lady  who  is  to 
reign  in  that  petit  castle  !  And  are  we  to  have  a  moat 
and  a  grange  and  a  drawbridge,  with  helmeted  guards  clad 
in  armor  of  linked  steel  ?  " 

Allston  caught  her  hands.  "  You  '11  be  flying  out  of  the 
window  next  on  your  Pegasus  if  I  don't  hold  you  fast." 


HAL  C  YON  DA  YS.  123 

"You  need  not  be  afraid;  I  should  be  sure  to  alight 
near  you." 

"Did  I  ever  tell  you  how  much  I  admire  your  nose, 
Katie?" 

"Did  I  ever  tell  you  that  Mrs.  Benedict  called  it 
repoussee  ?  " 

But  while  the  lovers  talked  their  nonsense,  Mrs.  Kennard 
grew  serious.  Her  daughter's  light  reference  to  guards  in 
armor  had  fired  a  train  of  thought,  and  after  a  moment's 
consideration  she  made  a  venture.  Her  sweet  contralto 
voice  betrayed  emotion  as  she  asked,  — 

"  Robert,  do  you  value  the  sword  that  you  carried  during 
the  war  very,  very  much  ? " 

The  question  surprised  the  Colonel,  and  he  colored  as 
he  answered  with  feeling  :  "  Yes,  I  do." 

"  And  you  have  thought  that  you  would  like  to  hand  it 
down  to  future  generations  as  a  treasure  to  be  preserved 
with  pride  ?  " 

The  Colonel's  color  deepened. 

"  Certainly,  I  have  thought  to  do  so.  How  could  it  be 
otherwise  ?  Dear  Mrs.  Kennard,  why  need  we  speak  of 
.this?" 

"  It  will  always  hurt  me  to  think  of  it,  but  I  have  never 
been  able  to  speak  of  it."  And  then  she  turned  her  dark 
eyes  to  him  with  irresistible  eloquence  as  she  made  her 
appeal :  "  Robert,  will  you  bury  your  sword,  and  any 
other  weapon  you  used  against  my  people,  under  the 
corner-stone  of  the  new  home?  I  would  not  ask  this  if 
it  did  not  seem  to  me  wrong  that  you  should  preserve 
tokens  of  that  war,  evidences  that  you  fought  against  my 
kindred  and  Katharine's,  after  Katharine  has  become  your 
wife." 

For  a  moment  the  Colonel  hesitated.  His  lips  closed 
firmly,  and  there  was  a  flash  of  angry  light  in  his  eyes.  All 


124  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

the  soldier  in  him  resented  the  claim  of  any  one  to  touch 
those  emblems  of  victorious  war. 

But  the  man  was  more  than  the  soldier.  As  he  looked 
at  Mrs.  Kennard  his  chivalrous  nature  responded  to  the  ap- 
peal of  the  beautiful  woman,  the  mother  of  his  promised 
wife,  who  spoke,  he  knew,  with  reference  to  a  future  gen- 
eration in  which  the  blood  of  the  Bentons  might  mingle 
with  that  of  the  Allstons.  Hard  as  it  was  to  comply, 
it  was  impossible  to  refuse.  In  asking  that  the  sword 
should  be  buried  beneath  the  corner-stone  of  the  house,  it 
was  offered  a  most  honorable  resting-place ;  and  was  not 
devotion  to  the  North  really  less  noble  than  devotion  to 
his  whole  country,  of  which  the  South  was  also  a  part? 
He  did  not  glance  at  Katharine  during  this  rapid  reflec- 
tion. He  made  his  decision,  and  there  was  no  reserva- 
tion in  the  generous  spirit  which  prompted  his  reply. 

"  You  are  right,  Mrs.  Kennard  ;  I  am  more  than  willing 
to  do  as  you  ask.  I  am  glad  that  you  thought  of  this.  It 
is  better  for  us  all  to  cherish  no  remembrance  of  the  war, 
now  that  we  have  peace.  I  think  this  is  a  most  happy 
inspiration." 

"  Oh,  Robert,  you  are  too  good ! "  said  Katharine, 
whose  eyes  were  bright  with  the  unshed  tears  that  came 
with  sudden  relief. 

"  Cherish  that  delusion  as  long  as  you  can,  my  dear. 
And  now  will  Miss  Kennard  redeem  her  promise,  and  tell 
me  when  I  may  hope  to  have  the  honor  of  calling  her  my 
wife?" 

"  How  long  before  the  house  can  be  finished  ?  " 

"  Why  wait  for  that  ?  How  would  it  suit  you  to  have  a 
quiet  marriage  some  evening  early  in  June,  if  your  mother 
will  keep  us  for  the  summer?  And  then  we  could  oversee 
the  building  of  the  house  together,  and  have  nothing  on 
hand  but  each  other  and  the  preparations  for  housekeep- 


HAL C  YON  DA  VS.  12$ 

ing.  Don't  you  think  that  would  be  very  nice,  Katie, 
darling?" 

And  then,  lover-fashion,  he  put  his  hand  under  her  chin, 
and  lifted  her  face  for  a  moment,  while  Mamma  Kennard 
discreetly  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"  Children,  I  think  that  would  be  right  sensible,"  was 
the  maternal  comment,  after  a  short  pause. 

"  What  would  be  sensible  ?  Oh,  yes  !  about  the  wedding," 
said  Katharine,  emerging  from  blissful  oblivion. 

"The  tenth  of  June  is  but  two  months  distant,  Katie," 
were  Robert's  parting  words  that  night. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

A  SIGN  OF  THE  TIMES. 

FEW  days  later  Miss  Crissfield,  homeward  bound, 
was  crossing  through  the  park  on  the  diagonal 
short  cut  from  Jefferson  to  Jackson  Street.  She 
moved  more  slowly  than  usual ;  her  face  was 
clouded,  her  eyes  were  cast  down,  and  her  firm  upper  teeth 
pressing  upon  her  drawn-in  under-lip,  indicated  troubled 
preoccupation. 

"Wait  a  moment,  Dora,"  called  a  familiar  voice  as 
Katharine  hastened  to  overtake  her  friend.  The  joyous 
voice  and  face  broke  in  upon  Dora's  depressing  reverie, 
and  summoned  a  responsive  smile. 

"  So  you  have  come  out  in  a  short  dress,  Dora,"  —  be- 
stowing a  comprehensive  glance  of  approval  as  she  con- 
tinued :  "  it 's  a  complete  success,  is  n't  it  ?  I  thought 
they  would  look  odd  at  first,  but  they  are  so  sensible  that 
they  at  once  seem  the  natural  thing.  Miss  Keith  is  to 
have  mine  done  to-morrow ;  and  then  farewell  to  the  loop- 
ing-up  process  every  time  I  go  out !  Your  suit  is  a  lovely 
color,  and  that  knot  of  dark  carnation  at  your  throat  is 
very  effective  against  the  gray." 

"  The  gray  of  my  complexion,  I  suppose  you  mean.  I 
feel  horribly  gray  all  through,"  admitted  the  young  lady, 
with  a  dry  smile. 


A  SIGN  OF  THE   TIMES.  12  J 

"  It 's  the  warm  weather ;  these  first  spring  days  are 
always  trying." 

Miss  Crissfield  assented  :  "  It 's  the  weather,  no  doubt ; 
but  you  seem  to  endure  the  trial  remarkably  well.  You 
step  as  if  your  whole  system  had  just  been  renovated  with 
new  patent  springs.  Your  voice  sounds  as  if  you  sub- 
sisted wholly  upon  larks,  and  your  eyes  look  as  if  you 
possessed  a  private  estate  in  paradise ;  you  are  altogether 
too  absurdly  happy." 

"  I  hope  that  I  shall  see  you  equally  happy,  and  with  as 
good  reason,  some  day,"  was  the  demure  response. 

"  That 's  a  very  appropriate  remark  for  you  to  make,  my 
dear;  but  you  know  perfectly  well  that  you  really  don't 
believe  that  any  one  ever  was  quite  so  happy  before,  or 
ever  will  be  again." 

Dora  stopped  and  faced  the  girl  beside  her,  taking  both 
her  hands,  and  gave  her  a  kiss.  As  no  one  happened  to 
be  in  sight,  this  feminine  effusion  was  unobserved. 

Still  holding  Katharine's  hands,  and  looking  straight  into 
her  face,  Dora  ventured :  "  When  are  you  going  to  be 
married?" 

A  vivid  blush,  an  embarrassed  protest,  prefaced  the  un- 
folding of  plans  and  prospects  which  Katharine  was  really 
eager  to  discuss  with  her  friend.  The  two  girls  walked 
slowly  on  past  Miss  Crissfield's  boarding-place,  and  turned 
to  the  north.  Not  a  glance  did  they  bestow  on  the  sec- 
tions of  blue  Lake  Michigan  that  came  into  view  at  every 
crossing;  unnoticed  was  the  fragrance  of  the  balm-of- 
Gilead  with  which  the  April  air  was  laden ;  unheeded  rose 
and  fell  the  songs  of  birds  in  every  tree,  so  wholly  were 
they  absorbed  in  their  conversation. 

When  the  fascinating  theme  had  been  fully  developed, 
Dora's  thoughts  reverted  to  the  cause  of  her  previous 
disquiet.  With  an  involuntary  change  of  tone,  she 


128  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

announced :  "  Joe  Irvington  is  in  town ;  he  came  to  see 
me  last  evening:  he  is  greatly  altered." 

Only  by  change  of  expression  did  Katharine  give  any 
evidence  of  having  heard  what  Dora  said ;  and  the  speaker 
continued :  — 

"  He  came  on  to  attend  to  an  important  lawsuit  for  an 
old  client,  and  also  to  assist  his  mother  in  preparations  for 
removing  to  Omaha,  where  they  are  going  to  housekeep- 
ing, as  he  has  formed  permanent  business  relations  there." 

Both  of  the  girls  felt  a  decided  constraint.  Before  leav- 
ing Milwaukee,  the  summer  previous,  Irvington  had  told 
Dora  of  Katharine's  refusal.  He  had  not  intended  that 
any  one  should  know  of  it ;  but  the  anger  within  him  had 
found  vent,  that  one  evening,  in  stinging  denunciations  of 
Katharine.  Understanding  how  the  man  was  suffering, 
Dora  had  listened  in  silence  to  words  which  she  knew  were 
wholly  unjust  and  cruel.  Like  a  true  friend,  she  was  glad 
to  give  him  an  opportunity  to  work  off  any  of  his  passion 
with  her  alone.  She  had  blamed  herself  for  introducing 
Irvington  to  Katharine,  although  subsequently  their  ac- 
quaintance would  have  been  inevitable.  Katharine  felt 
that  Dora  knew  of  the  refusal,  and  Dora  understood  that 
Katharine  felt  so ;  but  both  had  loyally  refrained  from  ever 
mentioning  it. 

This  unexpected  reference  to  Irvington  affected  Kathar- 
ine like  the  vivid  revival  of  a  troubled  dream.  Her  old 
feeling  of  dread  of  the  man  had  given  place  to  simple  aver- 
sion, and  it  cost  her  an  effort  to  speak  of  him. 

"  I  cannot  understand  your  friendship  for  a  man  like  Mr. 
Irvington,"  she  remarked,  —  as  if  the  lawyer  could  be  to 
her  only  an  object  of  most  distant  contemplation. 

Dora  considered  a  moment.  Knowing  what  she  wanted 
to  say,  she  hesitated  as  to  how  she  could  best  say  it,  but 
at  last  replied :  "  You  must  have  thought  that  before ;  it 


A   SIGN  OF  THE    TIMES.  129 

puzzles  me  also.  But  I  think  I  can  partially  explain  it,  and 
I  want  to  talk  with  you  about  it.  I  suppose  I  ought  to 
despise  the  man ;  but  inscrutable  is  the  nature  of  woman  : 
we  know  that  ourselves  better  than  any  man  can  tell  us.  I 
don't  believe  that  I  really  do  like  Joe  very  much, —  that  is, 
I  should  n't  like  him  if  any  one  else  did.  His  arrogance 
has  made  him  so  many  enemies,  he  seems  to  excite  such 
almost  universal  antagonism,  that  I  pity  him  profoundly. 
And  then  there  's  a  less  generous  reason  than  that :  he 
reminds  me  of  some  one  else  that  I  once  cared  for."  Her 
voice  lowered,  and  she  spoke  with  visible  effort.  "You 
don't  know,  Katharine,  that  I  was  engaged  to  be  married 
when  I  was  only  nineteen."  She  paused,  and  a  deep  flush 
spread  over  her  face.  "  Perhaps  I  was  nearly  as  happy  as 
you  are  now,  dear ;  at  all  events,  I  simply  worshipped  the 
man.  And  when  he  went  East  and  engaged  himself  to 
another,  —  one  whose  charms  were  heavily  gilded,  —  and 
afterwards  wrote  me  that  he  thought  we  had  been  hasty  and 
made  a  mistake  —  Oh,  well !  of  course  I  ought  to  have 
been  desperately  indignant,  and  thankful  for  my  escape, 
and  all  that ;  but  it  did  n't  have  that  effect.  I  think  it  was 
because  I  was  so  young  and  so  very  happy."  The  wo- 
man's lip  trembled  at  the  thought  of  that  young,  happy  girl, 
who  ever  since  then  had  seemed  quite  distinct  from  herself. 
"  It  was  so  terribly  sudden,  it  did  nearly  kill  me.  I  was  ill 
with  brain-fever  for  weeks,  and  perhaps  it  left  me  a  little 
odd;  for  —  and  this  is  why  I  am  telling  you  what  I've  not 
mentioned  for  seven  years — I  expect  the  whole  secret  of  my 
friendship  for  Mr.  Irvington  lies  in  the  fact  that,  from  our 
first  meeting,  he  reminded  me  of  the  one  who  caused  the 
supreme  happiness,  as  well  as  the  most  cruel  suffering,  of 
my  life.  In  all  common-sense,  that  should  have  repelled 
me ;  but  it  did  not.  He  seemed  in  some  way  associated 
with  my  other  self,  —  that  happy  girl  who  really  died  when 

9 


130  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

I  had  the  fever, — and  I  seemed  to  like  him  for  her  sake.  I 
think  all  this  has  made  me  perhaps  too  tolerant  towards  him, 
too  ready  to  interpret  him  favorably,  and  to  believe  in  good 
that  others  do  not  see  in  him.  With  all  our  familiar  inter- 
course, he  has  never  misinterpreted  my  friendly  feeling  to- 
wards him." 

Afterwards  Dora  wondered  that  she  could  have  opened 
her  heart  in  this  way  to  any  one.  Her  short  engagement 
had  been  confided  only  to  her  father,  who  was  then  living, 
and  its  rupture  had  never  been  discussed.  None  of  her 
acquaintances  of  recent  years  suspected  the  page  of  ro- 
mance in  the  history  of  this  cheerful  and  self-reliant  woman. 
Dora  turned  her  frank  face  towards  the  younger  girl  as  she 
concluded :  — 

"  And  now  that  I  have  made  this  little  confession,  Katha- 
rine, you  are  n't  going  to  despise  me,  are  you  ?  "  and  there 
was  a  shade  of  wistful  uncertainty  in  her  voice. 

"  Despise  you  !  What  a  thought !  It  is  lovely  of  you  to 
give  me  the  key  to  this  problematic  friendship ;  and  I  admit 
that  it  is  a  redeeming  point  in  Mr.  Irvington's  character 
that  he  seems  to  appreciate  you." 

On  their  return,  the  young  ladies  passed  the  site  of 
Katharine's  future  home,  enclosed  at  that  time  by  a  dilapi- 
dated picket-fence.  Robert  Allston,  within  the  enclosure, 
evidently  with  mind  intent  on  some  builder's  survey,  did 
not  perceive  the  approach  of  the  two  friends  until  they 
paused  at  the  gate  and  called  his  attention.  He  needed 
no  invitation  to  join  them ;  but  the  trio  was  broken  when 
Miss  Crissfield  reached  her  boarding-place  in  the  next 
block. 

After  leaving  Dora,  as  the  lovers  turned  to  resume  their 
southward  walk,  Katharine's  face,  radiant  with  the  delicious 
consciousness  of  happiness,  suddenly  lost  its  light.  Her 
careless  glance  had  encountered  a  too-familiar  figure  ad- 


A  SIC  A?  OF  THE   TIMES.  131 

vancing  towards  them.  The  first  impulse  to  turn  directly 
away  was  rejected,  and  a  few  steps  later  they  passed  Mr. 
Irvington.  Katharine  did  not  realize  how  cold  and  distant 
was  the  bow  she  gave.  Irvington  colored  violently,  and 
darted  a  look  of  mingled  anger,  jealousy,  and  reproach  at 
Katharine. 

Allston  flushed  with  indignation ;  the  glance  had  cut 
him  like  a  lash.  "Katharine,"  said  he,  hotly,  "that  look 
was  an  insult  to  any  woman.  What  did  it  mean?  Do  you 
know  Mr.  Irvington?  " 

"How  did  you  ever  know  Mr.  Irvington,  Robert?"  his 
companion  asked,  unheeding  his  vehemence  in  her  surprise. 

"  Please  answer  me,  Katie,"  insisted  her  lover. 

It  had  never  occurred  to  Allston  that  Katharine  could 
have  had  any  affair  of  the  heart  previous  to  their  acquaint- 
ance, or  that  any  other  man  had  even  thought  of  her  with 
tenderness.  It  hurt  him  to  recognize  such  a  possibility; 
and  a  feeling  of  hatred  was  excited  towards  the  man  who 
had  dared  cast  such  a  look  upon  his  promised  wife. 

Katharine  raised  her  eyes  to  Robert,  quelling  the  rising 
storm  before  she  answered  very  quietly :  "  Mr.  Irvington 
offered  himself  to  me  last  summer,  and  I  refused  him.  We 
have  not  met  since,  and  that  glance  was  probably  involun- 
tary. I  never  cared  for  him ;  my  heart  never  belonged  in 
the  least  to  any  one  but  you,  Robert.  I  did  not  expect 
ever  to  see  that  man  again.  I  thought  it  better  never  to 
speak  or  to  think  of  him  in  any  way,  that  I  might  the  more 
completely  forget  him." 

"  Katie,  dear,  you  are  the  sweetest  girl  in  all  the  world. 
I've  let  you  see  what  a  quick  temper  I  have,"  said  the 
young  man  penitently.  "  I  can't  tell  you  how  it  stung  me 
to  have  you  receive  such  a  look.  I  met  Mr.  Irvington  this 
morning.  He  is  the  lawyer  employed  against  me  in  the 
suit,  which  I  begin  to  think  may  prove  troublesome." 


132  ffIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

Katharine  had  not  given  a  thought  to  this  impending 
lawsuit.  She  only  knew  that  a  certain  Mr.  Giddings  had 
preferred  a  claim  upon  the  lot  which  Robert  owned  and 
upon  which  his  building  was  erected,  and  that  this  claim 
rested  upon  a  technical  flaw  in  the  title  in  favor  of  this 
Mr.  Giddings,  whose  father  had  formerly  owned  the  land. 
The  irregularity  had  occurred  when  the  deceased  Mr.  Gid- 
dings sold  the  property  to  a  Mr.  Howe.  Mr.  Howe  after- 
wards went  to  New  York  and  borrowed  a  sum  of  money  of 
Mr.  Walter  Allston,  an  old  acquaintance,  giving  a  mortgage 
on  the  Milwaukee  lot  to  the  full  amount  of  the  value  of  the 
property.  This  mortgage  had  been  foreclosed,  and  the 
property  had  passed  into  the  ownership  of  the  elder  Allston. 
The  title  had  not  been  disputed  until  after  the  completion 
and  occupation  of  Robert  Allston's  building;  this  delay 
had  the  appearance  of  premeditated  malice.  The  claim 
seemed  to  Allston  so  manifestly  unjust,  such  a  mere  legal 
quibble,  that  he  had  considered  a  verdict  favorable  to  him- 
self in  the  suit  as  a  foregone  conclusion.  He  had  put  the 
case  into  the  hands  of  a  competent  lawyer,  and  given  him- 
self no  uneasiness.  To  his  lawyer,  Mr.  Dempster,  the  case 
assumed  a  more  serious  aspect  when  he  learned  that 
Irvington  had  come  on  from  Omaha  to  conduct  the  prose- 
cution ;  for  Irvington  was  an  uncalculated  weight  in  the 
scale  against  justice. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

HIDDEN   SPRINGS. 
"  Malice  hath  a  sharp  sight  and  a  strong  memory." 

jjWO  years  earlier,  after  examining  an  abstract  of 
title  to  a  lot  adjoining  the  present  object  of 
dispute,  Irvington  carelessly  ran  his  eye  over 
the  title  following  the  one  in  which  he  was  in- 
terested, and  detected  a  flaw  which  might  make  trouble  for 
the  owner,  a  man  by  the  name  of  Allston.  The  property 
in  the  heart  of  the  city  was  valuable.  The  lawyer,  almost 
unconsciously,  made  a  mental  note  of  the  defective  title. 
He  thought  no  more  about  it ;  but  nothing  escaped  his 
accurate  and  retentive  memory. 

When,  in  March,  Irvington  received  a  gossipy  letter  from 
Milwaukee  mentioning  Miss  Kennard's  engagement  to  a 
Mr.  Allston,  who  had  recently  put  up  a  building  adjoining 
that  of  a  well-known  firm,  the  lawyer's  memory,  sharpened 
by  jealousy,  instantly  reverted  to  the  flaw  in  Allston's  title. 

It  took  but  a  brief  consideration  to  enable  Irvington 
to  mark  out  his  line  of  action.  Into  the  embittered  cur- 
rent of  his  love  had  now  entered  jealousy  and  revenge. 
The  three  formed  a  strong  alliance ;  but  from  out  the 


134  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

fastnesses  of  human  nature  another  stream  was  coursing 
on  to  join  them.  The  weakness  and  irresolution  of  an- 
other life,  at  last  gathered  together,  were  no  longer  merely 
passive.  It  is  a  strange  transition  when  the  weakness  that 
has  seemed  wholly  negative  appears  as  a  positive  force, 
working  destruction  without  apparent  purpose,  blindly,  but 
inevitably. 

Probably  there  was  not  in  all  Milwaukee  a  more  inoffen- 
sive man  than  Henry  Giddings.  There  was  a  wide  area  of 
uncalculating  kindness  in  the  man,  and  a  sort  of  natural, 
unthinking  honesty,  very  different  from  integrity,  and  yet 
in  all  ordinary  affairs  serving  the  purpose  of  integrity.  He 
had  always  maintained  respectability,  and  had  plodded  on 
towards  old  age  through  years  in  which  the  success  that 
seemed  often  within  reach  had  invariably  eluded  his  grasp. 
His  two  daughters  grew  up  and  married,  but  not  prosper- 
ously ;  and  the  sons-in-law  often  needed  help.  His  wife 
attempted  to  preserve  appearances ;  but  year  by  year  the 
economy  exercised  in  her  made-over  garments  was  more 
conspicuous,  while  the  wall-paper  throughout  the  house 
gained  dingier  dulness,  and  the  hard  warp  of  the  American 
tapestry  carpets  asserted  itself  more  undisguisedly.  When 
the  wife  died,  the  sorrowing  husband  sought  to  make  feeble 
amends  for  her  many  self-denials  by  some  show  of  pomp 
and  circumstance  in  her  funeral. 

A  year  after  he  brought  a  young  wife  to  the  house.  The 
dingy  paper  and  threadbare  carpets  were  no  longer  visible. 
But  this  second  marriage  made  unanswerable  demands 
upon  his  resources  when  a  family  of  young  children  had 
appeared  on  the  scene.  The  sons-in-law  had  to  shift 
for  themselves  then.  Mr.  Giddings  completely  lost  the 
revived  aspect  of  re-married  widower,  and  felt  himself  sink- 
ing into  the  hopeless  slough  of  debt.  The  many  needs  of 
the  little  ones  pained  his  kind,  fatherly  heart,  and  he  pitied 


HIDDEN  SPRINGS.  135 

the  rather  flashy  young  mother,  who  spared  neither  com- 
plaints nor  reproaches.  She  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears 
one  morning  as  she  told  him  that  she  could  n't  go  out  of 
the  house  because  she  had  not  a  decent  pair  of  shoes.  He 
tried  to  comfort  her,  and  called  her  his  poor  little  girl,  —  she 
was  only  two  years  younger  than  his  oldest  daughter,  —  but 
he  left  home  with  a  very  heavy  heart.  He  turned  the  de- 
pressing state  of  affairs  over  and  over  in  his  mind,  and  his 
dull  brown  eyes  only  grew  more  clouded.  Borrow  he 
must,  —  it  was  only  a  question  of  whom  to  borrow.  The 
boy  came  in  with  the  letters.  Mr.  Giddings  opened  one 
envelope.  It  contained  a  long  grocery  bill  from  Hankey 
Brothers,  with  the  announcement  that  credit  was  exhausted 
in  that  direction.  Mr.  Giddings  glanced  at  the  other  letters 
before  opening  them.  There  was  a  thick  one  from  Omaha, 
—  that  at  least  could  not  be  a  dun,  —  and  he  recognized 
the  handwriting  as  that  of  Irvington,  whom  he  had  once 
employed. 

This  letter  proved  to  be  intensely  interesting.  Mr.  Gid- 
dings read  it  and  re-read  it.  His  eyes  brightened ;  he  went 
over  to  the  recorder's  office,  and  returned  smiling ;  and  then, 
with  a  hand  trembling  with  eagerness,  he  answered  Irving- 
ton's  letter.  The  straw  had  been  held  out  to  the  drowning 
man.  And  now  the  desperation  of  the  husband,  goaded  on 
by  the  wants  of  the  little  children  and  the  evident  discontent 
of  his  wife,  moved  onward,  and  plunged  into  the  torrent  of 
Irvington's  passion. 

Irvington  congratulated  himself  on  having  found  a  tool 
ready  for  his  hand.  He  had  counted  on  the  cupidity  of 
mankind.  Little  he  knew  of  the  countless  circumstances, 
the  unnumbered  years  of  purposeless  endeavor,  that  had 
prepared  the  tool  for  his  use  ! 

Henry  Giddings  could  not  help  regarding  the  lawyer's 
letter  as  almost  a  special  providence.  In  its  aspect  of  wel- 


136  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

come  reprieve  it  lost  the  character  of  a  temptation.  Here 
was  a  lawful  way  of  obtaining  money,  and  young  Allston 
would  not  feel  it.  It  was  rumored  that  he  was  engaged  to 
Dr.  Kennard's  daughter,  and  that  alone  insured  his  future. 
Nobody  would  be  the  poorer,  and  his  Mattie  should  dress 
as  well  as  she  did  before  they  were  married.  He  bought 
on  trust  a  new  pair  of  shoes  for  his  Mattie  before  he 
went  home  that  evening.  He  could  scarcely  sleep  that 
night,  he  was  so  thankful. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

AN  OPEN  ENEMY. 

HEN  the  suit  opened,  the  Hon.  Allan  Dempster, 
Allston's  counsel,  recognized  in  the  extremely 
cold  superciliousness  of  Irvington's  demeanor 
an  evidence  that  he  had  taken  hold  of  this  case 
with  an  uncompromising  spirit. 

"  He  will  throw  off  that  mask  and  appear  in  all  his  war- 
paint when  he  begins  to  speak,"  was  the  older  lawyer's 
conclusion ;  and  he  was  not  mistaken. 

A  spirit  of  bitter  animosity  pervaded  the  opening  argu- 
ment. Allston  was  stigmatized  as  a  sort  of  adventurer,  —  a 
young  ex-fighter,  architect  of  unknown  antecedents,  who  did 
not  lack  the  effrontery  to  come  in  among  them  and  quietly 
take  possession  of  a  piece  of  property  belonging  to  an  hon- 
ored and  respected  citizen.  He  had  thought  to  claim  vic- 
tory through  the  sheer  boldness  of  this  high-handed  opera- 
tion. The  rightful  owner  had  bided  his  time,  watching  the 
performance  of  the  young  usurper  with  some  interest  and 
a  vast  amount  of  amusement.  The  audacious  pretender 
had  built  a  fine  trap  for  himself,  there  was  no  denying 
that  (here  the  speaker  made  a  bow  in  the  direction  of  the 
defendant).  The  experimentary  architect  had  been  shrewd 


138  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

enough  to  secure  good  plans  and  to  engage  a  competent 
builder.  The  trap  was  an  achievement  wholly  satisfactory 
to  the  owner  of  the  property  upon  which  it  was  built ;  his 
rightful  share  of  the  rentals  would  pour  in  like  manna  come 
down  from  heaven. 

When  this  vein  of  sarcastic  pleasantry  was  exhausted, 
the  lawyer  proceeded  to  unwind  his  strong  chain  of  legal 
technicalities  and  precedents ;  the  points  of  law,  slight  in 
themselves,  were  firmly  knit  together ;  and  he  closed  his 
argument  with  the  assertion  that  the  laws  of  Wisconsin 
were  wrought  into  an  invulnerable  shield  to  protect  the 
rights  of  his  client. 

Allston  was  prepared  for  a  fair  contest,  a  hard  conflict  if 
necessary ;  but  this  brutal  personal  attack  took  him  wholly 
unawares.  He  was  at  first  bewildered  by  this  presentation 
of  himself  in  the  character  of  a  vulgar  swindler ;  but  as  he 
listened  to  the  artful  innuendoes,  the  urbane  insults,  he 
grew  pale  with  intense  anger;  he  could  scarcely  restrain 
himself  from  starting  to  his  feet  and  hurling  the  scathing 
retort  that  burned  within  him.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
his  silence  might  be  construed  into  a  confirmation  of  those 
atrocious  insinuations ;  he  felt  at  the  moment  that  the  evil 
aspersions  cast  upon  him  must  leave  an  ineffaceable  stain. 
To  have  his  character  defamed  in  public  by  a  man  like 
Irvington,  and  be  forced  to  endure  it  or  to  lower  himself  by 
making  a  scene  in  court !  It  was  intolerable  !  He  recog- 
nized the  subtle  enmity,  the  fierce  desire  to  injure,  which 
gave  such  stinging  force  to  Irvington's  sarcasm ;  he  rightly 
connected  it  with  Katharine ;  and  with  that  thought  he 
firmly  reined  in  his  anger,  and  listened  to  the  close  of 
Irvington's  argument  with  unmoved  dignity. 

Allston  was  not  more  surprised  by  the  course  pursued 
by  Irvington  than  was  Mr.  Giddings,  who,  indeed,  was  but 
the  figure-head  in  the  case.  He  was  at  first  bewildered, 


AN  OPEN  ENEMY.  139 

then  pathetically  pleased,  by  the  conspicuous  manner  in 
which  he  was  brought  forward  in  the  case ;  it  was  a  novel 
experience  for  him  to  be  a  centre-piece  anywhere,  or  to 
be  the  object  of  any  consideration  !  It  gratified  him  im- 
mensely to  see  that  people  thought  he  had  been  shrewd. 
His  long-famished  vanity  and  self-esteem  seized  eagerly 
this  flattering  tribute  to  his  manly  sagacity.  In  the  sweet- 
ness of  its  coating  he  swallowed  the  miserable  pill  of 
falsehood  without  realizing  it.  He  was  so  captivated  by 
Irvington's  statements  that  for  the  time  he  half  believed 
it  was  a  genuine  impostor  who  was  being  exposed. 

The  effect  of  Irvington's  speech  was  somewhat  dispelled 
by  the  dignified  stand  taken  by  the  lawyer  for  the  defence, 
who  was  an  elderly  man  of  wide  influence  and  high  stand- 
ing. Irvington's  unproved  assertions  and  venomous  in- 
sinuations were  wholly  ignored.  Allston's  high  credentials 
received  their  due  acknowledgment,  and  the  demand  that 
the  case  should  be  tried  on  its  merits  was  followed  by  an 
able  and  forcible  statement  of  the  rights  and  claims  of  the 
defendant. 

The  suit  continued  for  several  days,  and  excited  general 
interest.  From  the  opening  argument  the  tide  was  turned 
in  favor  of  the  prosecution.  The  jury,  made  up,  as  usual,  of 
unthinking  men,  were  all  familiar  with  old  Giddings.  It  was 
against  reason  to  suppose  that  a  plain,  commonplace  man 
like  him,  who  had  always  lived  among  them,  minding  his 
own  business  and  interfering  with  no  one,  should  all  at 
once  take  it  into  his  head  to  press  an  unjust  claim.  It 
tickled  their  sense  of  humor  to  think  of  the  old  fellow  let- 
ting Allston  go  on  with  his  building,  and  then  quietly  claim- 
ing the  property.  Their  judgment  was  also  unconsciously 
influenced  by  the  fact  that  Mr.  Giddings  belonged  to  their 
own  sphere  in  life.  They  did  not  really  believe  that  the 
young  architect  was  a  swindler,  but  they  took  it  for  granted 


140  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

that  he  was  in  easy  circumstances,  or  he  would  not  have 
been  associated  with  the  Kennards.  According  to  Irving- 
ton's  statements,  the  law  seemed  to  favor  the  claim  of 
Giddings,  and  it  seemed  all  right  to  level  down  the  in- 
equalities of  fortune  when  a  fair  chance  came  along. 

When  Irvington  closed  the  argument  for  the  plaintiff, 
throwing  into  it  all  the  force  of  his  acute  mind  and  iron 
will,  the  jury  were  convinced  that  the  claim  of  Giddings 
should  be  allowed.  Neither  Mr.  Dempster's  argument  nor 
Judge  Wentworth's  charge  to  the  jury  affected  their  preju- 
dice in  favor  of  the  plaintiff.  One  of  the  twelve  men, 
Mr.  Hankey,  the  grocer,  was  inclined  to  think  the  whole 
thing  a  "  put-up  job,"  —  to  use  his  mental  phraseology ;  but 
Hankey  had  his  private  reasons  for  wishing  Giddings's  suc- 
cess. Hankey  Brothers  had  a  grocery  bill  of  long  standing 
against  Giddings,  and  the  chances  for  the  collection  of 
the  bill  would  be  diminished  should  this  suit  be  decided  in 
favor  of  the  defendant ;  and  Mr.  Hankey  did  not  want  to 
stay  locked  up  all  night  disagreeing  over  the  verdict.  He 
hated  a  stubborn  man,  any  way ;  and  altogether  the  reasons 
for  his  agreeing  with  the  other  eleven  men  seemed  good 
enough  reasons.  Thus  it  happened  that  the  jury  returned 
a  verdict  in  favor  of  the  plaintiff,  and  temporary  victory 
was  awarded  Irvington. 

Judge  Wentworth,  however,  whose  mind  had  perhaps 
an  unjudicial  bias  in  favor  of  justice  pure  and  simple  as 
opposed  to  mere  legal  technicalities,  granted  the  motion 
for  a  new  trial. 

Outward  warfare  was  consequently  suspended ;  but  the 
passions  which  it  had  excited  awaited,  unabated,  a  future 
conflict. 

Doctor  Kennard  had  been  greatly  interested  in  the  suit. 
He  understood  Irvington's  private  motive  in  vilifying 
Allston,  and  he  wished  to  see  Irvington  defeated  no  less 


AN  OPEN  ENEMY.  141 

than  he  desired  Allston's  success.  He  knew,  too,  that 
should  the  suit  finally  be  decided  in  favor  of  Mr.  Giddings, 
Allston  would  be  cramped  financially,  and  would  accept 
pecuniary  assistance  unwillingly. 

Heretofore,  Robert  had  won  easy  success  in  every  di- 
rection. Popularity  had  followed  him  in  college,  through 
his  army  life,  and  in  both  social  and  business  relations  in 
Milwaukee. 

When  the  verdict  was  given  against  him,  Allston  felt  that 
he  had  been  publicly  disgraced,  declared  to  be  a  swindler ; 
and  he  could  not  rid  himself  of  the  idea.  To  eventually 
win  the  suit,  was  the  only  satisfactory  method  of  public 
vindication  left  him.  It  was  now  not  only  a  matter  of 
pecuniary  interest,  but  of  personal  honor  as  well. 

Both  delicacy  and  pride  forbade  Allston's  saying  more 
than  was  unavoidable  to  Katharine  concerning  Irvington's 
course  in  the  court-room.  She  would  naturally  think  her- 
self the  real  cause  of  the  bitter  personality.  He  knew  also 
that  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak  of  Irvington  in 
terms  of  moderation,  and  he  felt  a  sensitive  dislike  to 
recalling  or  repeating  the  lawyer's  offensive  words. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

AN   INTERLUDE. 

|HE  day  after  the  suit  closed,  Allston  took  tea  at 
the  Kennards'.  The  Doctor  and  his  wife  had 
an  engagement  elsewhere,  and  it  was  the  young 
lady  of  the  house  who  presided  as  hostess. 

Allston  was  suffering  with  a  severe  headache  and  unusual 
nervousness ;  but  he  found  his  sweetheart  the  very  picture 
of  tranquil  happiness,  with  a  cluster  of  starry  narcissus  at 
her  belt,  gleaming  like  snow  against  the  azure  of  her  dress. 
The  gentlest  look  of  sweet  concern  came  into  her  eyes  as 
she  perceived  that  Robert  was  not  well. 

"  You  should  always  wear  blue,  Katie,"  said  Robert, 
holding  her  off  at  arm's  length,  and  fondly  covering  her 
with  his  gaze.  "  I  always  thought  of  you  in  blue  after  our 
first  meeting,  until  I  saw  you  again  with  a  pennon  of  blue 
floating  from  around  your  neck  in  the  Lake  Superior 
breezes.  Do  you  remember?"  And  Katharine  was  not 
held  at  arm's  length  as  her  lover  concluded. 

The  evening  was  chilly ;  a  low  open  fire  blazed  on  the 
hearth  in  the  dining  room  ;  the  blinds  were  drawn  ;  a  mel- 
low light  fell  through  the  tinted  lamp-shade  upon  the 
table  beneath,  bringing  into  relief  the  snowy  damask  and 
shining  silver,  and  quivering,  slender  sprays  of  lilies-of-the- 


AN  INTERLUDE.  143 

valley  in  a  vase  of  crystal.  Visible  in  the  conservatory 
beyond,  Mrs.  Kennard's  tropical  plants  loomed  up  in  the 
gray  twilight. 

These  harmonious  surroundings,  with  Katharine  looking 
so  sweet  and  domestic  in  their  midst,  exerted  a  soothing 
influence  over  Allston's  restlessness,  and  wooed  him  into 
forgetfulness  of  his  recent  rasping  sense  of  injury ;  but  con- 
trary to  its  usual  effect,  a  cup  of  strong  coffee  increased  the 
pain  throbbing  through  his  temples. 

Katharine  chatted  lightly  on  about  one  thing  and  an- 
other, doing  her  best  to  entertain  and  divert  her  lover, 
unveiling  in  her  sympathy  more  than  her  usual  tenderness. 
This  phase  of  her  nature  gave  Allston  such  pleasure 
that  he  felt  it  worth  the  pain  which  had  occasioned  its 
manifestation. 

But  Katharine  said  one  thing  that  for  the  moment  broke 
the  charm  of  this  quiet  interlude.  She  told  her  lover  that 
Miss  Crissfield  had  been  in  during  the  afternoon,  deeply 
indignant  with  Mr.  Irvington,  whom  she  denounced  as  the 
embodiment  of  envy,  hatred,  and  malice. 

"  Don't  speak  of  him,  please,  Katie,"  Allston  interposed 
nervously ;  and  then  continued  :  "  I  believe  that  man  is  my 
evil  genius.  A  month  ago  I  had  never  seen  him ;  and 
now,  turn  where  I  will,  I  encounter  the  shadow  of  Irving- 
ton.  It  seems  that  neither  you  nor  I  were  to  escape  his 
influence  separately ;  but  when  we  are  together,  dear,  let  us 
wholly  banish  him  and  forget  him." 

Soon  after  eight,  Allston  was  obliged  to  leave,  having  an 
imperative  engagement  to  meet  Mr.  Dempster  at  one  of 
the  hotels. 

The  two  young  people  parted  with  reluctance.  Allston 
dreaded  to  throw  off  the  soothing  spell  of  Katharine's 
presence,  and  he  delayed  his  departure  moment  after 
moment.  And  then,  as  they  stood  together  at  the  door, 


144  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

he  still  lingered,  quoting,  by  way  of  justification :  "  You 
know  — 

"  '  I  have  to  say  good-night 

To  such  a  host  of  peerless  things,  — 
Good-night  to  fond,  uplifted  eyes, 
Good-night  to  — ' 

not  'the  snowy  hands' — what  is  it  comes  next?  I've 
forgotten ;  and  I  really  must  go.  "  And  then,  with  cling- 
ing tenderness,  the  last  good-night  was  given. 

As  Allston  turned  away  into  the  darkness  the  thought  of 
Katharine  was  like  a  lamp  in  his  heart ;  then  he  realized 
a  keen  sense  of  physical  discomfort  as  the  raw,  penetrating 
east  wind  chilled  him,  and  the  pain  in  his  head  throbbed 
with  insistent  violence.  The  lake  was  lashing  the  shore 
with  a  subdued,  angry  roar.  Now  and  then  a  cold  drop  of 
rain  heralded  a  coming  storm. 

As  the  young  man  crossed  through  the  court-house 
square  he  noticed  the  bars  of  the  old  jail  windows  faintly 
outlined  against  the  dim  light  within,  and  gave  a  thought 
of  pity  to  the  poor  fellows  locked  up  there.  They  ought 
to  get  Irvington  to  defend  them  if  they  wanted  to  cheat 
justice.  Irvington  again  !  He  must  take  himself  in  hand, 
and  turn  resolutely  from  the  thought  of  that  man,  dis- 
miss him  altogether  from  his  mind.  He  must  regard  his 
lawsuit  as  it  originally  stood,  —  merely  as  a  legal  contest  for 
his  rights.  If  he  lost  it  —  why,  it  would  be  only  a  piece 
of  legal  injustice.  He  had  never  cherished  an  enmity  in  his 
life,  and  it  was  lowering  himself  to  let  this  animosity  gain 
such  ascendency.  He  would  go  down  to  Chicago  the 
next  day  and  efface  these  recent  impressions. 

Mr.  Dempster  was  already  waiting  when  Allston  reached 
the  hotel.  The  necessary  conference  was  not  long,  but  the 
lawyer  was  in  an  unusually  talkative  mood.  He  started  on 
speculations  as  to  the  state  of  Mr.  Giddings's  finances ;  then 


AN  INTERLUDE.  145 

rambled  on  from  one  point  to  another.  No  one  could  con- 
vince him  that  Giddings  had  known  of  this  defective  title 
until  recently.  Then  with  a  sudden  feeling  of  exasperation 
towards  Irvington,  he  rashly  expressed  it  as  his  opinion 
that  Irvington  was  in  some  way  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole 
scheme.  He  probably  had  his  eyes  on  his  own  possible 
share  of  profit  from  "  the  trap,"  and  was  craving  for  his 
own  taste  of  the  manna. 

Allston  listened  in  silence  ;  but  this  aimless  talk  affected 
him,  nevertheless,  and  set  in  rebellion  the  recently  quelled 
feelings  of  animosity.  He  felt  a  positive  relief  in  having 
his  own  unspoken  suspicions  expressed  by  an  older  and 
more  experienced  man. 

A  heavy  splash  of  rain  against  the  window  warned  Mr. 
Dempster  that  the  storm  was  breaking,  and  he  speedily 
took  his  departure. 

Allston  went  down  to  the  reading-room  to  look  over  the 
evening  papers  before  retiring. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"A    MOMENT    OF    ETERNITY." 

ALF  a  dozen  persons  were  in  the  reading-room ; 
among  them  was  Irvington.  An  expression  of 
haughty,  sneering  insolence  had  become  habit- 
ual with  him.  The  man  was  too  self-absorbed 
to  be  aware  that  he  was  generally  disliked,  but  he  knew 
that  he  found  people  in  general  disagreeable.  The  fires 
of  jealous  fury  were  working  destruction  in  his  heart,  and 
there  was  something  antagonizing  to  better  men  in  his 
very  presence. 

This  evening  there  was  an  ugly  look  in  his  eye,  and  a 
sullen  expression  about  his  mouth  that  gave  warning  of 
a  dangerous  mood.  He  hated  an  east  wind,  it  always 
made  him  savage ;  and  he  was  angry  with  Dora  Crissfield, 
who  had  dared  to  speak  her  mind  to  him  in  regard  to  his 
attack  on  Allston  in  terms  incapable  of  favorable  construc- 
tion. She  had  made  him  feel  that  she  despised  him,  and 
he  inwardly  winced  under  her  thrusts :  this  served  as  an 
additional  grudge  against  the  Allston- Kennard  combination. 
Politics  chanced  to  be  the  subject  of  conversation  in  the 
reading-room.  Irvington  expressed  an  opinion  not  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  sentiment  of  the  others  present  when 
he  said  it  was  a  good  thing  for  the  South  that  their  arch- 


"  A  MOMENT  OF  ETERNITY."  147 

enemy  Lincoln  was  out  of  the  way  before  Reconstruction 
was  attempted. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  that,  Colonel  ?  Are  n't  you  ready 
to  take  up  the  gauntlet  in  defence  of  our  murdered  Presi- 
dent?" asked  some  one,  turning  to  Allston,  who  had 
entered  the  room  in  time  to  hear  Irvington's  remark. 

Allston  felt  perfectly  justified  in  meeting  his  enemy  on 
this  purely  impersonal  question.  Lincoln  was  his  idol. 
He  was  in  Washington  at  the  time  of  the  assassination; 
his  mind  for  days  afterwards  had  been  steeped  in  eulogies 
of  the  President.  He  could  have  given  an  oration  on 
the  subject  with  no  preparation ;  and  as  he  accepted  the 
challenge  the  words  seemed  to  come  of  themselves. 

"The  South  lost  her  most  powerful  friend  in  the  death 
of  Lincoln,"  he  began,  gathering  warmth  as  he  proceeded. 
"  He  was  more  than  the  President  of  the  North,  he  was 
the  President  of  the  United  States ;  he  was  the  great  rep- 
resentative of  American  character ;  the  proof  of  what  type 
of  man  can  be  produced  by  radical  American  ideas  of 
equality ;  the  rare  evidence  of  what  simple  force  and  in- 
tegrity, united  with  love  to  God  and  love  to  man,  can 
achieve.  No  man  in  the  North  could  have  been  more 
ready  to  show  generosity  to  the  South,  none  more  ready 
to  wipe  out  the  stains  of  war,  restore  the  blessings  of  peace, 
and  to  weld  again  the  broken  bonds  of  unity.  He  was 
the  ideal  ruler,  —  at  once  the  defender,  the  friend,  and  the 
faithful  servant  of  the  people.  The  very  honors  conferred 
on  him  were  transmuted  into  mediums  through  which  his 
intrinsic  worth  and  power  could  be  utilized  for  the  service 
of  those  who  honored  him." 

He  had  said  more  than  he  intended ;  but  this  reply  to 
Irvington  was  warmly  received  by  the  Republican  faction. 

"  The  young  fellow  quotes  very  glibly,"  the  lawyer  mut- 
tered in  an  audible  undertone. 


148  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

Flushing  hotly,  Allston  turned  away,  and  ran  his  eye  over 
the  headings  of  a  newspaper  which  he  had  taken  up. 

Irvington  approached  nearer,  saying  in  a  low,  offensive 
tone :  "  Since  you  are  so  enraptured  with  the  divine  quali- 
ties of  the  nigger-lover,  you  perhaps  cherish  the  fond  delu- 
sion that  Kitty  Kennard  is  a  paragon  of  perfection." 

Allston  kept  his  eyes  riveted  upon  the  paper,  but  felt 
himself  growing  rigid  with  passion. 

Watching  his  adversary  narrowly,  Irvington,  who  seemed 
possessed  by  some  malignant  demon,  continued,  without 
a  pause  :  "  If  you  knew  Kitty  as  I  do,  you  would  change 
your  opinion.  I  tell  you,  that  girl  — "  The  rest,  the 
deadly  insult,  was  hissed  into  Allston's  ear. 

The  fury  within  Allston  was  unleashed  now.  All  con- 
sciousness was  swept  into  the  one  over-mastering  impulse 
to  avenge  the  insult  to  Katharine  and  to  silence  the  voice 
that  had  dared  utter  those  words. 

One  breathless  instant,  and  the  strong  young  arm  was 
raised ;  sinews  of  iron  clenched  the  hand,  and  one  power- 
ful blow  was  struck,  swiftly  followed  by  another.  In  the 
inspiration  of  intense  passion,  both  blows  were  aimed  with 
fatal  precision  at  the  temple. 

Irvington  fell  heavily  to  the  floor.  Others  rushed  to  his 
assistance  and  laid  the  motionless  body  on  one  of  the  read- 
ing-tables. A  physician  who  happened  to  be  in  the  hotel 
was  in  the  room  without  loss  of  time  :  with  his  hand  upon 
the  faintly  fluttering  heart,  his  face  grew  deeply  serious. 
He  looked  at  the  discolored  mark  of  Allston's  knuckles  on 
the  temple,  then  laid  his  hand  again  upon  the  heart :  the 
feeble  motion  was  scarcely  perceptible  now.  The  hush  of 
suspense  had  fallen  upon  the  group  surrounding  that  still 
form ;  the  silence  was  broken  by  the  low,  startling  words 
from  the  doctor,  — 

"  It  is  all  over  with  him,  the  man  is  dead." 


"A   MOMENT  OF  ETERNITY."  149 

Allston  was  leaning  against  the  wall,  standing  motionless 
with  folded  arms.  His  headache  was  gone;  his  passion 
had  exhausted  itself;  he  was  absolutely  calm  and  collected, 
and  his  perceptions  were  preternaturally  clear.  The  doc- 
tor's low  words,  "The  man  is  dead,"  reached  him  with  the 
full  force  of  their  meaning.  Like  a  white-hot  iron,  they 
seared  the  brand  of  "  murderer  "  upon  his  soul. 

No  one  spoke  to  Allston ;  he  stood  there  in  his  sudden 
and  horrible  isolation  until  he  could  endure  it  no  longer ; 
then  turned  to  the  man  nearest  him,  saying :  "  You  had 
better  have  me  arrested  ;  I  am  not  wanted  here." 

It  had  cost  him  a  terrible  effort  to  speak,  to  assert  his 
awful  existence ;  and  his  voice  sounded  strangely  un- 
natural. 

Not  wanted  there  !  No,  nor  in  any  place  on  the  whole 
earth.  He  was  that  fearful  thing,  —  a  murderer,  an  out- 
cast. Through  what  depths  of  misery  must  he  pass  before 
the  full  meaning  of  those  words,  "  murderer,  outcast," 
should  be  measured  !  Was  not  hell  a  bottomless  pit  ?  It 
was  easy  to  believe  that  now. 

Why  did  not  an  officer  come  to  arrest  him?  Some  one 
was  going  to  break  the  news  to  the  dead  man's  mother,  to 
tell  her  that  her  son  was  murdered.  It  was  not  only  a  man 
that  he  had  struck,  then,  he  had  crushed  some  woman's 
heart;  and — oh!  unspeakable  horror  !  —  Katharine!  The 
room  grew  black  before  him  now.  No  one  on  earth  or  in 
heaven  could  save  her  from  the  blow,  —  the  blow  that  he 
had  struck  with  his  own  hand ;  his  loving  Katie  in  her  blue 
dress  and  white  flowers :  why,  a  narcissus  from  her  belt 
was  in  his  button-hole  now  ! 

The  room  was  filling  rapidly.  Men  were  beginning  to 
look  at  him  furtively,  as  if  they  knew  he  could  not  meet 
their  eyes.  Good  heavens  !  Would  the  officer  never  come  ? 
He  glanced  at  the  clock  ;  it  had  stopped, — but  no,  he  heard 


I5O  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

it  tick ;  and  yet  it  could  not  be  that  but  one  half-hour  had 
passed  since  he  entered  that  room. 

His  anxious  eye  sees  the  officer  at  last.  Scarce  a  word 
passed  between  the  two  men  before  they  quietly  left. 

In  the  midst  of  his  agony  Allston  felt  thankful  for  release 
from  the  terrible  ordeal  of  the  last  few  moments  ;  thankful 
to  go  to  jail,  to  prison,  to  death,  —  anywhere  away  from  the 
sight  of  men.  But  the  luxury  of  solitude  was  denied  him. 

"  The  jail 's  pretty  full,  Colonel ;  I  '11  have  to  put  you  in 
a  cell  with  another  man,"  said  the  sheriff,  apologetically. 

The  sheriff  had  been  in  the  army,  and  he  hated  to  lock 
up  a  soldier. 

"  It 's  a  pity  you  did  n't  give  up  fighting  when  the  war 
was  over,"  he  continued,  in  an  awkward  attempt  to  com- 
bine sympathy  with  condemnation,  holding  the  attitude 
of  a  soldier  towards  a  superior  officer,  and  a  sheriff  to- 
wards a  prisoner. 

There  was  no  light  in  the  cell.  Allston  heard  the  deep 
breathing  of  the  man  already  asleep  there,  but  had  no  idea 
of  his  surroundings,  otherwise  than  that  the  close  atmos- 
phere gave  an  impression  of  contracted  space.  He  felt  for 
a  match,  and  found  that  he  had  none ;  but  presently  the 
sheriff  returned  and  handed  him  a  candle. 

"  I  guess  I  can  trust  you  with  that  for  a  few  minutes, 
Colonel ;  but  I  '11  have  to  come  for  it  pretty  soon." 

One  glance  revealed  the  fact  that  the  furniture  in  the  cell 
consisted  of  a  single  bed  and  nothing  else. 

"  I  shall  not  go  to  bed  to-night,"  said  Allston ;  "  can  you 
let  me  have  a  chair  ?  " 

"Oh,  certainly!  Yes.  We  don't  furnish  chairs  for  the 
regular  occupants ;  but  with  you  it 's  different.  And  I  guess 
you  might  as  well  keep  the  candle  if  you  ain't  going  to 
bed."  Then,  after  it  had  been  arranged  that  Dr.  Ken- 


UA   MOMENT  OF  ETERNITY."  151 

nard  should  be  sent  for  at  daylight,  the  sheriff  took  his 
departure. 

The  tallow  candle  seemed  to  increase  the  closeness  of 
the  stifling  atmosphere,  and  Allston  soon  extinguished  it ; 
forgetting  as  he  did  so  that  he  had  no  matches  with  which 
to  relight  it.  He  was  possessed  by  a  wild  desire  to  keep 
in  motion ;  but  the  close  quarters  cramped  his  movements, 
and  the  man  beside  him  turned  uneasily  and  gave  signs  of 
arousing. 

All  through  that  interminable  night  Allston  sat  there  in 
the  darkness,  trying  to  grasp  the  reality  in  all  its  bearings. 
He  could  not  concentrate  his  mind.  At  first  his  wandering 
thoughts  hovered  near  Katharine.  She  was  still  sleeping, 
all  unconscious  of  impending  doom.  Would  that  she  need 
never  awaken ;  would  that  dawn  need  never  break  ! 

But  other  faces  came  to  haunt  him.  The  dead  man 
seemed  lying  beside  him,  icy  dead,  with  that  cruel  sneer 
forever  stamped  upon  his  features.  And  again,  out  from 
the  darkness  appeared  the  eyes  of  Irvington's  mother,  — 
that  pale,  serious,  dark-eyed  woman  whom  Allston  knew  by 
sight.  What  mute,  unutterable  reproach  looked  out  from 
the  depths  of  those  eyes  now  ! 

Fraught  with  an  aching  sense  of  desolation  came  the 
thought  of  his  own  father  and  mother.  The  old  familiar, 
sacred  thought,  so  filled  with  tenderness  blended  with  half 
conscious  hope,  was  gone,  buried  beneath  the  great  wave 
of  destruction  ;  and  in  its  place  was  left  the  dread  question  : 
Did  they,  too,  know?  Had  his  furious  blows  struck  even 
them  in  the  life  beyond  ?  Had  no  dear  one  been  out  of 
his  reach  ?  Turn  where  he  would,  there  was  no  light.  This, 
then,  was  the  end  of  all  his  hopes,  all  his  affections,  all  his 
high  resolves,  —  this  suffocating  cell  in  a  jail,  the  past  a 
blank,  the  future  a  black,  unfathomable  abyss.  Through 
the  dull  misery  and  sense  of  unreality  enveloping  him 


152  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

darted  pangs  of  intolerable  anguish.  Armed  with  stings 
of  torture,  rushed  a  throng  of  tender  memories  and  cher- 
ished hopes ;  but  cutting  deeper,  down  to  the  very  centre 
of  life  itself,  pierced  the  realization  that  he  was  in  thought 
and  deed  a  murderer.  The  life  that  he  had  taken  was 
beyond  recall.  In  a  moment  of  passion  he  had  hurled 
a  brother  man  into  eternity,  at  the  moment  when  that 
man's  soul  was  dyed  with  the  most  cruelly  evil  intent 
towards  an  innocent  woman.  He  dimly  felt  that  even  yet 
life  held  for  him  possibilities  of  repentance  and  expiation  ; 
but  what  if  it  were  true  that  in  the  life  beyond  there  were 
no  such  possibilities?  Irvington's  very  sin  which  had 
caused  the  blow  to  fall  ought  to  have  stayed  his  hand. 
Was  he  not  his  brother's  keeper?  To  avenge  an  insult 
he  had  dared  turn  the  mighty  issues  of  life  and  death.  If 
there  was  a  hell,  it  was  hell  into  which  he  had  plunged  his 
enemy.  It  was  no  longer  the  silent  dead  body,  but  the 
living,  agonizing  soul  of  Irvington  which  seemed  so  near. 
The  enmity  itself  had  died  to  rise  again  in  this  awfu] 
fellowship  of  sin  and  suffering. 

Deep  was  the  knowledge  of  the  underlying  fact  of  human 
existence  —  the  brotherhood  of  man  —  that  was  given  to 
Allston  that  night,  and  fearful  was  the  price  that  it  cost 
him.  No  sophistry  of  lawyer  or  philosopher  could  soften 
his  crime  in  his  own  eyes.  He  knew  what  he  had  done,  as 
none  other  could  know.  Before  the  unseen  tribunal  of 
God,  his  own  soul,  and  Irvington's  accusing  spirit,  the 
verdict  was  given;  and  from  that  court  there  was  no 
appeal. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
A  LAWYER'S  OPINION. 

faint  rays  of  morning  light  began  to  penetrate 
even  into  the  jail,  Robert  nerved  himself  for 
the  coming  day. 

That  night  had  done  the  work  of  years.  To 
his  own  consciousness  Allston  seemed  now  to  have  always 
been  a  murderer ;  all  realization  of  former  happiness  had 
passed  away.  He  dimly  wondered  if  he  should  ever  see 
Katharine  again.  Perhaps  in  her  womanly  pity  she  might 
come  to  him ;  but  he  hoped  that  he  should  never  see  her 
again,  —  he  could  not  even  touch  her  hand ;  and  how  could 
he  meet  either  her  accusing  or  her  pitying  eyes  ?  But  why 
think  of  that  ?  Even  she  must  turn  away  from  him  now. 

It  happened  that  Dr.  Kennard  was  at  home  when  the 
fatal  encounter  between  Allston  and  Irvington  took  place. 
The  messenger  sent  in  the  morning  abruptly  broke  the 
news  as  he  and  the  Doctor  left  the  house.  As  the  boy 
told  the  story,  it  seemed  to  the  Doctor  simply  incredible ; 
but  ten  minutes  later,  when  he  looked  into  the  face  of 
Robert  Allston,  he  saw  the  tragedy  written  there,  and 
needed  no  further  confirmation  of  the  startling  news. 

Allston  was  prepared  for  the  interview.  Few  words  were 
said  on  either  side ;  but  the  Doctor's  unspoken  sympathy 
with  the  suffering  man  was  appreciated. 


154  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

Briefly  Allston  related  the  occurrence  of  the  evening  be- 
fore; his  voice  was  almost  inaudible  when  he  mentioned 
the  name  of  Katharine. 

"  I  cannot  tell  even  you  what  he  said  in  that  connection, 
Doctor ;  I  can  never  repeat  it,  in  mercy  to  the  dead.  I 
do  not  want  to  blame  him ;  I  do  not  want  to  excuse  my- 
self: but  if  you  had  heard  what  I  heard,  you  would  under- 
stand it  all." 

As  they  were  about  to  part,  Allston  said,  with  great  hesi- 
tation :  "  You  will  break  it  most  gently  to  your  daughter,  I 
know;  you  have  been  such  a  good  friend  to  me  always, 
and  now  I  must  ask  you  to  take  a  share  in  this  dreadful 
work,  —  I  must  ask  you  to  give  this  deadly  hurt  to  your 
daughter.  Do  you  think  that  I  don't  realize  what  a  return 
I  am  making  for  all  your  friendship?" 

"Robert,  don't  torture  yourself  with  such  thoughts," 
said  the  Doctor,  seeing  how  every  fibre  in  Allston's  heart 
was  quivering  with  pain. 

Robert  rallied  to  something  of  his  usual  decision  as  he 
answered :  "  Do  not  try  to  soften  my  crime  in  her  eyes. 
It  will  be  best  for  her  if  she  turns  from  me  at  once  and 
forever." 

Finding  the  other  occupant  of  the  cell  up  and  dressed 
when  he  returned,  Allston  threw  himself  upon  the  mattress 
of  straw  which  served  as  a  bed ;  and  overcome  by  the  ex- 
haustion of  the  night,  he  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep. 

Hours  passed  before  he  was  awakened,  —  not  suddenly 
and  rudely  by  the  oaths  of  rough  prisoners,  but  gradually, 
as  the  strains  of  martial  music  penetrated  his  consciousness. 
Was  he  in  camp  ?  Where  was  he  ?  And  then  the  return- 
ing tide  of  recollection  swept  over  him.  Even  rest  meant 
only  strength  renewed  for  suffering. 

The  music  grew  fainter  and  fainter  as  the  passing  band 
moved  up  the  street.  From  the  cell  next  Allston's  came 


A   LAWYER'S  OPINION.  155 

the  high-pitched  voice  of  a  Methodist  crank  declaring  his 
innocence  of  the  charge  of  incendiarism  for  which  he  was 
arrested,  and  wandering  into  a  droning  exposition  of  the 
laws  of  Moses,  and  dwindling  into  an  indistinct  mumble 
when  another  voice  curtly  remarked,  "  Shut  up,  can't  you  ?  " 

Allston  sat  up  and  looked  across  into  the  opposite  cell. 
Its  sole  occupant,  a  boy  of  fourteen  or  thereabouts,  was 
completely  absorbed  in  an  illustrated  story-paper  of  the 
most  sensational  class.  The  boy's  clothes  were  clean,  his 
skin  was  fair  and  soft  as  a  girl's.  As  he  raised  his  blue 
eyes  to  the  top  of  a  column,  they  gave  out  a  clear  light ;  but 
their  intent  look  told  how  eagerly  he  was  drinking  in  the 
contents  of  the  paper.  The  stream  itself  was  poisoned, 
but  it  may  have  been  only  its  freight  of  brilliant  and  thrill- 
ing adventure  which  enthralled  the  reader. 

In  the  cell  beyond,  a  group  of  four  lounged  on  the  straw 
bed  playing  cards.  A  burly  back,  a  thick,  brawny  neck 
surmounted  by  a  shock  of  bristling  hair,  was  all  that  was 
visible  of  the  figure  next  the  door.  His  partner  sat  in  the 
light  which  mercilessly  fell  on  a  rat-like  face  with  receding 
forehead,  with  sharp,  restless,  opaque  Mack  eyes,  with  thin 
lips  and  pointed  chin.  The  lines  of  cruelty  about  his 
mouth  were  half  hidden  by  a  sparse  growth  of  reddish 
beard.  His  frequent  smile  disclosed  long,  narrow  teeth. 
He  played  his  game  with  fierce  attention,  closely  watching 
the  others.  This  man  had  been  in  jail  for  a  year,  and 
meant  to  stave  off  his  trial  for  forgery  as  long  as  possible. 
In  the  mean  time  he  systematically  won  at  cards  any  loose 
change  that  happened  to  be  in  the  possession  of  prisoners 
who  would  take  a  game  with  him.  A  good-natured,  lazy 
young  Irishman,  scantily  attired,  having  nothing  to  lose  and 
no  ability  to  win,  was  playing  for  fun,  and  freely  indulged 
in  yawns  and  jokes,  to  the  evident  annoyance  of  his  part- 
ner, who  completed  the  quartet. 


156  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

How  utterly  outside  the  pale  of  his  own  existence  those 
men  seemed  to  Allston  !  As  he  turned  indifferently  from 
them,  his  eyes  encountered  the  other  remaining  inmate  of 
the  jail.  Leaning  his  head  listlessly  against  the  grated  door 
stood  a  tall,  dull-eyed  youth  of  eighteen,  with  large  tears 
coursing  slowly  down  his  sallow  cheeks.  There  was  scarcely 
a  gleam  of  intelligence  in  the  weak  face,  and  not  a  line  of 
energy  in  the  limp  figure. 

A  little  stir  in  the  entry,  and  the  sheriff's  wife  came  bust- 
ling towards  the  door,  saying  brightly  to  the  apathetic  crea- 
ture :  "  Ben,  here  's  your  pa ;  walked  in  all  the  fifteen  miles 
from  home  just  to  see  you.  Guess  you  're  glad  he 's  come, 
ain't  you,  now?" 

The  little  faded  elderly  man,  full  half  a  head  shorter  than 
his  son,  hesitatingly  advanced,  shrinking  timidly  from  the 
possible  stare  of  other  prisoners.  Ben's  only  greeting  was 
an  increase  of  tears  and  a  nervous  twitching  of  the  muscles 
about  his  mouth ;  but  the  two  shook  hands. 

"  I  've  brought  yer  some  terbaccy,  Bennie,"  said  the 
father,  consolingly.  He  fumbled  awhile  in  the  depths  of 
his  pocket  before  producing  his  offering. 

"  The  boys  in  here  gim'  me  some  onct,"  said  Ben,  feebly 
wiping  off  his  tears  with  a  dingy  square  of  cotton. 

Then  followed  an  aching  void  of  silence.  When  its 
weight  became  unbearable,  the  father  again  reached  his 
hand  through  the  bars,  saying :  "  I  guess  I'll  have  to  go 
now,  Bennie.  Yer  ma 's  well.  Good-bye  !  I  hope  ye  '11 
live  to  come  back  from  prison." 

The  man  turned  away,  wiping  his  eyes.  Ben  gazed 
mournfully  after  him. 

The  father  had  taken  a  day's  precious  time  and  a  weary 
walk  of  fifteen  miles  for  this  visit.  In  their  dumb  way  had 
they  understood  each  other,  and  found  some  comfort  even 
in  the  sad  constraint  of  that  interview? 


A  LAWYER'S  OPINION.  157 

The  scene  had  interested  and  aroused  Allston.  That 
helpless,  overgrown,  feeble-minded  boy  to  be  sent  to 
prison  !  Were  such  things  done  in  Milwaukee  with  the 
knowledge  and  consent  of  men  like  Allan  Dempster  and 
Judge  Wentworth  ?  Was  this  one  of  the  undercurrents  of 
life  of  which  he  had  but  the  vaguest  notions  ?  Were  there 
evils  like  this  to  be  remedied  ?  Were  there  poor  creatures 
like  that  to  be  cared  for,  and  no  echo  of  their  wrongs 
found  its  way  to  the  ears  of  the  people  who  filled  the 
churches  and  prayed  for  "  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  "  ? 
And  had  those  same  people  never  heard  the  words,  "  I  was 
sick  and  in  prison,  and  ye  visited  me  not "  ?  Why  this 
endless  calling  upon  God  to  do  the  work  that  men  could 
do ;  or  rather  to  undo  the  results  of  the  carelessness  and 
indifference  of  those  in  power?  This  little  outburst  of 
righteous  indignation  aroused  the  young  man  for  the  mo- 
ment to  the  recognition  of  the  world  outside  himself;  but 
the  blaze  of  indignation  was  quenched  in  the  grinding 
sense  of  his  own  present  powerlessness  to  help  any  one, 
the  poignant  regret  for  his  forfeited  manhood. 

Allston  was  beginning  to  feel  faint  from  his  long  fast, 
when  a  sickening  odor  of  boiled  cabbage  and  corned  beef 
announced  that  preparations  for  dinner  were  in  progress ; 
and  soon  after  that  mid-day  meal  made  its  appearance, 
served  in  dingy  and  battered  tin  ware. 

Two  hours  later  Mr.  Dempster  called  upon  Allston.  As 
the  young  man  advanced  to  meet  his  lawyer  he  flushed 
with  a  painful  sense  of  humiliation  at  being  seen  behind 
the  bars.  All  the  natural  dignity  of  self-respect  was  torn 
from  him  for  the  moment,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  endured  the  wretched  misery  of  shame.  The  older 
man  divined  this  instantly,  and  repressed  all  expressions  of 
sympathy. 

"  This  is  a  bad  scrape,  Colonel,  and  an  unfortunate  turn 


158  ffIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

of  our  lawsuit;  but  I  think  we  shall  be  able  to  make  a 
strong  defence.  The  thing  was  really  an  accident.  I  shall 
make  a  hard  fight  for  your  acquittal." 

"  Accident !  "  "  Defence  ! "  "  Acquittal !  "  What  a  re- 
freshing sound  those  words  had  in  the  usual  matter-of-fact 
tones  of  the  lawyer.  They  were  bracing  as  a  whiff  of  west 
wind ;  but  they  did  not  shift  the  bearings  of  the  situation 
in  the  mind  of  Allston. 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  accept  an  acquittal  ?  Do  you 
think  any  jury  under  heaven  could  acquit  me  in  my  own 
eyes,  or  could  give  any  value  to  life  or  liberty  after  this  ? 
I  am  a  murderer,  but  I  am  not  yet  a  sneak  or  a  coward." 
This  avowal  was  made  with  a  flash  of  the  military  spirit 
which  had  distinguished  Robert  in  the  army. 

The  lawyer  looked  grave  as  he  replied :  "  I  hope  that 
you  are  not  bent  upon  doing  anything  rash,  Colonel  All- 
ston. I  am  an  older  man  than  you.  I  have  had  a  long 
experience  in  law-practice,  and  I  know  something  of 
human  nature.  I  tell  you  it  is  impossible  for  a  man  to 
keep  up  to  the  heroic  stand  you  are  taking.  You  are 
young,  vigorous,  and  honorable ;  you  have  your  rights, 
and  it  is  your  right  to  have  a  fair  trial.  Any  man  would 
have  been  excusable  in  striking  Irvington ;  that  you  killed 
him  was  a  mere  —  mischance.  There  was  no  murder  about 
it.  It  must  be  tried  as  a  case  of  manslaughter ;  but  it  is 
just  one  of  the  cases  that  will  appeal  to  the  sympathy  of  a 
jury.  The  case  must  lie  over;  you  will  be  out  on  bail; 
by  the  next  term  of  court  all  excitement  connected  with 
the  matter  will  have  cooled,  and  we  shall  have  our  defence 
fully  prepared." 

"  As  to  legal  evasions  and  moral  subterfuges,  I  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  them.  I  shall  not  consent  to  a  trial  under 
any  circumstances.  I  wish  my  fate  to  be  settled  as  quietly 
and  speedily  as  possible,"  was  the  uncompromising  reply. 


A   LAWYER'S  OPINION.  159 

"You  know  nothing  of  what  a  long  term  of  imprison- 
ment would  be  to  an  active,  high-strung  young  man  like 
yourself.  You  can't  conceive  of  the  effect  of  those  drag- 
ging years,  —  and  there  's  no  justice  in  it ;  you  don't  deserve 
it !  "  To  legally  biassed  eyes,  Robert's  decision  appeared 
mere  obstinate  folly. 

"Mr.  Dempster,  you  cannot  judge  for  me.  If  you 
should  kill  a  man,  then  you  might  feel  as  I  do ;  you  would 
see  things  then  as  you  cannot  see  them  now.  You  need 
not  envy  me  this  moral  illumination,  however ;  it 's  not 
worth  the  price.  I  should  despise  myself  if  I  tried  to 
escape  what  I  feel  to  be  the  just  consequences  of  my  own 
act.  Do  you  think  that  I  don't  realize  what  provocation 
I  had  ?  I  wish  that  I  could  forget  it.  But  I  realize,  too, 
that  if  ever  man  desired  to  blot  out  the  existence  of 
another,  that  desire  overwhelmed  me  when  I  struck  Mr. 
Irvington." 

"  You  are  speaking  under  the  strongest  excitement ;  all 
this  matter  is  too  near  your  present  consciousness;  you 
must  recover  from  the  terrible  shock  before  you  decide 
upon  any  course.  No  man  is  fit  to  be  his  own  lawyer." 

Mr.  Dempster  began  to  realize  the  uselessness  of  argu- 
ment, but  was  determined  upon  securing  time  in  which 
to  work  in  the  interest  of  his  client,  even  without  the  young 
man's  consent. 

"  There  is  a  question  that  I  must  ask,"  resumed  Allston ; 
"  did  any  one  besides  myself  hear  what  Mr.  Irvington  said 
to  me  before  I  struck  him  ? " 

"  No  one  seems  to  know  exactly  what  was  said,  but 
there  is  an  impression  that  the  name  of  a  young  lady  was 
mentioned  in  some  way  —  well  —  characteristic  of  Mr. 
Irvington." 

Allston's  face  hardened.  "  I  had  hoped  that  she  might 
be  spared  this,"  he  said  bitterly.  "  My  only  defence,"  he 


160  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

added,  wearily,  —  feeling  deep  in  his  heart  how  strong  a 
defence  it  was,  —  "  the  only  defence  possible,  would  drag 
her  name  before  the  public,  and  coupled  with  Mr.  Irving- 
ton's.  Do  you  think  I  could  endure  that?  I'd  rather  be 
hanged,  or  wear  out  my  whole  life  in  prison.  You  know  — 
we  were  —  she  was  my  promised  wife,"  he  said,  dropping 
his  voice,  and  with  a  look  of  unutterable  misery  in  his 
gray  eyes.  "  To  shield  her  from  any  acknowledged  share 
in  this  matter  is  the  last  thing  I  can  ever  do  for  her." 

"  Noblesse  oblige"  the  lawyer  admitted ;  "  but  it  's  an 
awful  sacrifice  that  you  are  contemplating.  We  won't  talk 
about  it  to-day ;  but  it  will  never  do  for  a  man  to  act  upon 
a  rash  impulse  in  an  affair  of  this  importance." 

"  Call  it  a  rash  impulse  if  you  like ;  but  as  I  look  at  the 
matter  I  have  no  alternative.  What  Irvington  said  does 
not  belong  to  any  court ;  it  is  between  that  dead  man  and 
me.  He  paid  for  it  with  his  life,  and  it  will  be  buried  with 
him.  I  have  not  paid  for  his  life  yet,  but  I  took  it,  and  I 
am  going  to  pay  for  it.  As  far  as  human  law  goes,  I  in- 
tend to  square  this  thing." 

"  It 's  useless  to  argue  with  you  to-day,"  replied  Mr. 
Dempster.  "  We  will  both  sleep  over  it."  He  felt  no  con- 
fidence that  sleeping  over  it  would  alter  Allston's  decision, 
but  he  was  resolved  to  do  nothing  to  carry  that  decision 
into  effect  until  obliged  to  do  so. 

After  the  lawyer  had  left,  the  minutes  of  the  long  after- 
noon dragged  slowly  by.  Allston  had  declined  to  look  at 
the  Milwaukee  papers,  and  the  New  York  dailies  handed 
him  by  Mr.  Dempster  soon  ceased  to  interest.  The  other 
prisoners  were  civil,  but  showed  no  inclination  towards 
familiarity,  and  the  young  man  was  left  undisturbed  to  the 
gloomy  companionship  of  his  own  thoughts.  He  began 
to  feel  the  confinement  irksome,  and  to  long  for  exercise 
and  fresh  air ;  and  then,  too,  insensibly  there  stole  into  his 


A   LAWYER'S  OPINION.  l6l 

heart  such  a  yearning  for  Katharine,  and  such  a  consum- 
ing pity  for  the  suffering  girl,  and  racking  anxiety  as  to 
what  effect  the  news  had  upon  her.  He  could  not  know 
that  all  the  day  long  she  had  been  walking  up  and  down 
her  room,  speechless,  stung  into  an  agony  of  pain  and 
restlessness,  seeking  no  sympathy,  hearing  none  of  her 
mother's  tender  words,  looking  like  a  bewildered,  hunted 
creature  vainly  seeking  escape. 

Not  till  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  Dora  Crissfield  came 
in,  with  the  tears  raining  over  her  face,  was  the  spell  of 
Katharine's  silence  broken ;  then,  throwing  herself  into  the 
arms  of  her  friend,  she  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  wild  in- 
treaty  :  "  I  want  to  see  Robert !  Take  me  to  see  Robert ! 
I  cannot  bear  this  without  Robert !  And  don't  you  know 
how  he  must  want  me  ?  " 


11 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
WOMAN'S  WEAKNESS. 


HE  town-clock  struck  five.  Each  stroke  sounded 
clear  in  the  still  air  of  the  beautiful  May  even- 
ing. There  were  steps  in  the  entry  outside  the 
grated  door  of  the  jail.  Robert  Allston  looked 
up ;  the  light  fell  upon  the  approaching  form  of  Dr.  Ken- 
nard,  and  the  slight  figure  of  a  girl  closely  veiled  was 
beside  him. 

Was  it  sudden  joy  or  sudden  fear  that  for  a  moment  un- 
nerved Allston  ?  But  he  knew  that  he  must  go  forward,  and 
he  dared  not  hesitate.  He  intended  to  establish  at  once 
the  change  in  their  relations ;  but  as  Katharine  came  to- 
wards the  bars  that  separated  them,  and  threw  back  her 
veil,  he  saw  the  terrible  change  in  her  face ;  and  when 
she  thrust  her  two  imploring,  ungloved  hands  through  the 
bars  to  him,  all  else  was  borne  from  his  realization,  save 
only  that  Katharine,  his  darling,  had  received  a  deadly 
hurt  and  had  come  to  him  for  help. 

She  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  and  he  could  hear 
the  tumultuous  beating  of  her  heart  in  that  first  moment  of 
silence  when  he  took  her  fluttering  hands  within  his  own. 
Under  the  influence  of  his  touch  she  grew  more  quiet ;  her 
head  drooped  for  support  against  the  iron  bars.  The 
drawn  muscles  of  her  face  relaxed.  She  fixed  her  eyes  on 


WOMAN'S    WEAKNESS.  163 

Robert's  face,  and  their  eager,  hungry  look  faded  slowly, 
until  she  faintly  smiled;  her  breath  came  regularly;  she 
was  terribly  pale  and  weary,  but  for  the  moment  her  agony 
was  gone. 

"  Robert,"  she  said  softly,  "  dear  Robert,  you  are  such 
a  comfort !  "  She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  who  it  was 
that  had  hurt  her.  "It  has  been  horrible  all  this  long 
eternity  without  you,  and  now  we  are  together  again  ! " 
Her  eyes  closed  for  a  moment. 

The  Doctor  watched  his  daughter  with  intense  attention 
and  anxiety;  he  feared  for  her  reason  when  her  mind 
should  arouse  into  activity.  Both  he  and  Robert  saw  that 
she  was  so  stunned  by  the  shock  and  the  first  horrible 
throe  of  anguish  that  she  was  incapable  of  comprehending 
the  meaning  of  what  had  occurred.  When  she  opened  her 
eyes  she  seemed  to  have  gathered  strength,  and  spoke 
more  naturally. 

"  Robert,  it  is  n't  true,  dear,  —  it  can't  be  true ;  for  you 
are  just  the  same  as  always,  only  some  way  you  look  ever  so 
much  older.  If  you  tell  me  just  once  that  it  is  n't  true,  I 
shall  believe  you  forever,  if  all  the  world  is  against  you. 
Robert,  tell  me  it  is  n't  true;  "  and  she  looked  at  him 
with  such  faith  and  entreaty  in  her  eyes  as  if  she  felt  that 
it  rested  with  him  to  make  that  horror  unreal,  and  that  for 
love  of  her  he  must  make  it  unreal. 

It  was  the  most  torturing  form  of  that  inevitable  ques- 
tion, "  Guilty,  or  not  guilty?  "  Holding  those  tender  hands 
of  Katharine's,  he  could  not  even  clench  his  own ;  for  her 
sake  he  must  bear  that  agony  without  a  quiver,  all  his 
strength  must  go  out  to  strengthen  her. 

Robert's  face  blanched,  but  there  was  no  other  visible 
sign  of  suffering  as  he  looked  steadily  into  her  eyes  and 
firmly  held  her  hands. 

"It  is  true,  Katharine."     The  words  were  most  gently 


1 64  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

spoken,  in  a  steady  tone,  and  not  even  the  shudder  that 
passed  over  her  unnerved  him  then ;  he  understood  that 
he  alone  could  make  it  possible  for  her  to  bear  the  blow ; 
and  in  the  same  low,  tender  voice  he  continued  :  "  It  was 
very  friendly  and  sweet  of  you  to  come  to  see  me,  Kathar- 
ine ;  and  you  will  come  again  to-morrow,  or  next  day,  will 
you  not?  It  will  be  a  great  comfort  for  me  to  see  you 
again.  But  now  you  are  so  very  tired  I  want  you  to  let 
your  father  take  you  home.  It  is  better  for  us  both  that 
we  have  seen  each  other ;  and  when  you  come  again,  if  you 
want  to  speak  to  me  of  what  has  happened,  you  shall.  It 
all  seems  as  strange  and  incomprehensible  to  me  as  it  does 
to  you.  And  now,  dear,  will  you  go  and  try  to  rest?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  for  a  moment,  softly  whispered 
"  Good-bye  !  "  and  turned  to  her  father. 

Robert  did  not  glance  towards  the  Doctor,  nor  hear  his 
parting  words,  nor  the  opening  and  closing  of  the  door 
as  they  two  passed  out.  Before  this  he  had  thought  of 
what  he  had  done ;  now  he  had  seen  part  of  the  ruin  he 
had  wrought. 

He  went  into  his  cell  and  closed  the  creaking  iron  door. 
The  daylight  faded,  supper  was  sent  in  with  its  clatter  of 
tins,  and  the  blue-eyed  boy  rapped  to  summon  Allston,  but 
received  no  answer ;  the  twilight  deepened  into  darkness, 
but  still  no  sound  was  heard  within  that  cell. 

Late  in  the  evening  the  sheriff  came  in  with  a  light,  and 
a  note  for  Allston.  The  sheriff  was  startled  by  the  changed 
and  haggard  face  of  the  prisoner,  and  stopped  for  a  few 
moments'  chat,  concluding  with  the  remark  :  "  You  '11  have 
the  cell  to  yourself  to-night,  Colonel ;  the  man  that  was  in 
here  last  night  had  his  trial  this  morning,  and  got  clear. 
The  fellow  could  n't  give  bail,  and  was  locked  up  for  eight 
months,  losing  work  and  wages ;  and  now  it  turns  out  that 
he  was  innocent.  Naturally,  he  feels  pretty  sore  about  it. 


WOMAN'S   WEAKNESS.  165 

He  has  no  money  to  waste  in  trying  to  recover  damages ; 
and  if  a  man  can't  pay  for  justice,  he  need  n't  expect  it 's 
coming  to  him  as  a  free  gift.  It 's  hard  luck  when  a  poor 
man  gets  into  a  scrape ;  though  people  that  can  pay  for  it 
generally  manage  to  buy  justice  —  or  injustice  —  as  they 
happen  to  want  it.  Money  commands  the  use  of  other 
people's  brains;  and  it's  brains  that  win,  nine  times  out 
of  ten,  no  matter  which  side  they're  on.  Irvington  was 
an  awful  smart  lawyer.  Excuse  me,  Colonel,"  added  the 
sheriff,  as  Allston  involuntarily  winced  at  this  inadvertent 
mention  of  Irvington. 

"  That 's  all  right,"  answered  Robert,  proceeding  to  open 
the  note  the  sheriff  had  brought.  It  was  from  Dr.  Kennard, 
and  ran  as  follows  :  — 

"  Katharine  is  resting  quietly  and  naturally.  After  our  re- 
turn, a  reaction  from  the  shock  of  the  morning  came  on  in  the 
form  of  overpowering  drowsiness,  and  early  in  the  evening  she 
fell  into  a  deep  sleep.  I  hope  that  you  will  get  some  rest 
yourself  to-night." 


CHAPTER    XXV. 
WOMAN'S  STRENGTH. 

ATHARINE'S  slumber  lasted  unbroken  all 
through  the  night  and  far  into  the  next  day. 
She  awoke  near  noon  with  a  strange  feeling 
of  change ;  but  at  first  she  could  not  remember 
what  had  happened.  She  seemed  to  have  been  with 
Robert,  listening  to  his  voice,  her  hands  held  in  his; 
and  then  the  reality  came  back  to  her,  —  vaguely  as  to  the 
effect  upon  herself,  but  clear  in  its  outlines  in  relation  to 
Robert. 

How  could  she  be  sleeping  while  Robert  was  suffering  ? 
And  with  renewed  energy  and  spirit  she  arose  to  face  life 
in  its  changed  aspect.  She  spoke  naturally  to  her  father 
and  mother  when  she  met  them  downstairs,  and  went  with 
them  to  dinner.  She  could  not  speak  of  what  had  occurred, 
and  Mrs.  Kennard,  who  was  prepared  for  this  ordeal, 
chatted  composedly  to  the  Doctor. 

As  they  left  the  dining-room  Katharine  said  to  her 
father :  "  I  wish  that  you  would  take  me  to  Robert  at 
four  o'clock."  And  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  she  threw 
a  shawl  around  her,  and  made  her  escape  to  the  piazza. 
Above  all  things  she  wanted  to  be  alone,  —  free  to  think 
without  interruption. 


WOMAN'S  STRENGTH.  l6/ 

As  her  father  was  leaving  the  house  she  detained  him  to 
hear  from  him  again  all  that  he  knew  concerning  the 
tragedy.  She  wanted  to  hold  all  the  threads  firmly  before 
meeting  Robert  again.  She  had  herself  well  in  hand  now, 
and  she  meant  to  keep  her  feelings  in  check,  that  she 
might  better  be  able  to  understand  what  had  happened. 

A  b'ght,  fresh  breeze  was  blowing ;  the  deep-blue  waves 
of  Lake  Michigan  broke  upon  the  shore  with  a  regular, 
rocking  movement.  Katharine  felt  herself  never  so  truly 
alone  as  when  in  the  companionship  of  the  lake ;  it  seemed 
to  furnish  a  background  of  infinity  for  her  thoughts.  For 
more  than  an  hour  she  walked  the  piazza,  with  her  mind 
concentrated  upon  this  new,  dark  page  in  her  life  and 
Robert's,  reading  it  over  and  over  again,  and  entering  more 
deeply  into  its  meaning.  One  line  running  through  it  was 
clear  enough  to  her :  if  Robert  had  not  loved  her,  this 
could  never  have  happened.  It  was  awful  to  .think  that 
out  of  their  pure  and  priceless  love  for  each  other  had 
sprung  this  fatal  deed ;  but  if  Robert  had  not  loved  her,  this 
could  never  have  happened. 

When  the  Doctor  came  back  for  his  daughter,  she  was 
ready  and  waiting.  As  she  passed  down  the  garden-path 
beside  the  bed  of  narcissus,  the  starry  flowers  nodded  and 
bent  their  heads  towards  her.  She  paused  and  gathered 
a  cluster  of  the  fragrant  blossoms  before  entering  the 
carriage. 

Katharine  threw  back  her  veil  and  looked  brightly  up 
to  Robert  as  she  neared  the  grating  behind  which  he  was 
standing.  A  quick-drawn  sigh  escaped  her  when  she  saw 
his  altered  countenance  and  read  the  traces  of  what  he 
had  suffered. 

"  I  am  stronger  to-day,  Robert ;  I  have  come  to  share 
your  trouble,  and  to  help  you  to  endure  it,"  were  her  first 
words. 


1 68  HIS  BROKEN  SIVORD. 

Robert's  heart  was  cheered  to  see  her  again  so  like  her 
old  self,  notwithstanding  her  white  face  and  that  look  of 
maturity  which  a  great  sorrow  gives  even  to  the  young ;  and 
all  the  strength  of  her  womanhood  seemed  to  shine  out  in 
the  steady  light  of  her  eyes. 

"  It  does  me  good  to  see  you  looking  so  much  better," 
he  answered.  "  I  almost  dreaded  meeting  you  again  after 
yesterday;  but  that  long  sleep  has  done  a  blessed  work. 
Yes,  I  know  about  it ;  your  father  sent  me  word  last  night, 
and  again  this  morning." 

And  then  Katharine  gave  him  the  narcissus  she  had 
brought. 

"  I  think  they  will  make  you  feel  as  if  you  had  a  part  of 
me  with  you,"  she  said,  dropping  her  eyes  half  shyly,  —  a 
movement  characteristic  of  her  when  making  any  little 
advance. 

Robert  took  the  flowers  with  his  left  hand.  As  he  did 
so,  Katharine's  eyes  fell  upon  a  dark  line  of  discoloration 
running  across  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand.  She  started 
with  a  slight,  involuntary  shudder,  and  glancing  up  ner- 
vously, she  intercepted  an  expression  in  Robert's  eyes  that 
cut  her  to  the  soul.  For  the  moment  she  could  not  speak ; 
but  she  laid  her  own  hand  tenderly  across  the  dark  line  on 
his,  covering  it  from  their  sight.  How  she  longed  for  the 
miraculous  touch  of  healing  just  then,  before  she  found 
voice  to  say,  in  a  gentle,  assuring  tone,  — 

"  It  will  not  always  be  there ;  before  long  every  trace  of 
it  will  be  gone.  And  now,"  she  continued,  with  a  change 
of  tone,  "  I  want  you  to  tell  me  all  that  concerns  yourself, 
and  what  Mr.  Dempster  says  about  your  prospects." 

The  Doctor  had  been  obliged  to  leave  Katharine  for 
a  little  while,  and  she  and  Robert  settled  into  a  long 
and  earnest  conversation.  Robert  expressed  himself  very 
frankly  with  but  one  reservation,  and  Katharine  was  irre- 


WOMAN'S  STRENGTH.  169 

sistibly  drawn  into  sympathy  with  his  feelings  in  regard  to 
the  course  he  had  decided  upon.  While  listening  to  him 
she  was  able  to  consider  the  situation  outside  of  its  relation 
to  herself;  to  feel  that  the  thing  now  to  be  thought  of  was 
what  would  be  the  highest  line  of  action  for  Robert.  How- 
ever, she  did  not  think  that  Robert  estimated  his  own 
rights  fairly. 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  I  should  care  what  use  was  made 
of  my  name  in  order  to  secure  justice  for  you  ?  "  she  said 
with  spirit.  "  Why,  I  would  not  hesitate  to  go  into  court 
and  stand  beside  you  and  say,  '  He  did  it  for  my  sake ;  I 
am  his  promised  wife.'  Whatever  is  best  for  you,  is  best 
for  me  ;  there  can  be  no  division  of  our  interests." 

Robert  stood  a  moment  in  silent  thought ;  then  surprised 
her  with  the  simple  question :  "  Katharine,  do  you  love 
me?" 

"  Oh,  Robert !  "  was  her  only  answer. 

"Then,  dear,  never  again  try  to  tempt  me  from  doing 
what  I  know  to  be  fight  and  honorable,  —  and  it  might  not 
alter  the  result.  Judge  Wentworth  will  know  all  that  you 
know ;  he  will  not  be  unjust." 

"  You  are  so  brave  and  true  to  yourself.  You  are  n't 
one  bit  changed,"  she  began;  then  she  suddenly  broke 
down,  leaned  her  head  against  the  bars,  and  her  whole 
frame  was  shaken  by  her  sobs.  They  were  the  first  tears 
she  had  shed. 

Her  distressed  lover  —  for  the  moment  he  was  again  her 
lover  —  comforted  her  as  only  he  could  ;  and  when  he  in- 
advertently called  her  "  Katie,  darling,"  she  raised  her  wet 
eyes  with  a  sudden  glad  light  in  them,  and  whispered  with 
impassioned  tenderness :  "  We  have  still  each  other ;  we 
have  still  each  other !  These  tears  don't  mean  anything, 
only  that  you  are  so  good ;  and  it  breaks  my  heart  to  think 
that  if  it  had  n't  been  for  me,  you  would  not  be  here  now." 


I/O  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

"Don't  think  that;  never  once  think  that,"  entreated 
Allston. 

Katharine  drew  herself  up,  gathered  courage  again,  and 
answered  with  decision :  "  I  shall  think  what  is  true,  and 
I  shall  learn  to  bear  the  truth.  I  know  the  future  looks 
very  black  to  us  now,  and  we  don't  see  how  we  can  live 
and  endure  it ;  but  light  will  come,  and  strength  will  come, 
and  we  shall  find  some  way  through  this  darkness.  Other 
people  have  lived  through  dreadful  experiences ;  we  shall 
suffer,  but  we  are  not  going  to  despair." 

Allston  felt  a  thrill  of  admiration  for  her  intrepid  spirit, 
undaunted  even  by  this  sudden  blotting  out  of  happiness, 
this  ruin  of  her  dearest  hopes ;  but  he  expressed  his  fond 
pride  in  her  only  indirectly  as  he  said,  — 

"  You  're  like  a  blade  of  Damascus  steel,  Katharine,  — 
one  moment  bowed  beneath  the  weight  of  your  tears,  and 
the  next  erect  and  strong  as  ever." 

"  Damascus  steel  is  to  be  relied  upon,  is  n't  it?  "  was  her 
reply,  just  as  the  return  of  the  Doctor  brought  their  inter- 
view to  a  close. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CROSS-PURPOSES. 

1|J|T  first  Allston  felt  cheered  and  encouraged  after 
this  second  visit  from  Katharine ;  most  grateful 
to  him  was  her  entire  sympathy  and  her  under- 
standing of  his  feelings.  Her  moral  support 
made  it  easier  for  him  to  nerve  himself  to  meet  the  future, 
and  in  an  unconscious  way  she  had  ministered  to  his  self- 
respect. 

On  the  other  hand,  he  perceived  how  wholly  she  was 
unawakened  to  the  fact  that  henceforth  their  lives  must  lie 
apart.  The  thought  of  ultimate  separation,  inevitable  as  it 
was,  seemed  never  to  have  occurred  to  her.  In  view  of 
the  future,  this  familiar  intercourse  must  not  go  on,  as  every 
meeting  like  the  last  would  make  the  break  harder  when  it 
came.  How  inseparable  from  his  existence  she  had  seemed 
while  they  were  together  ! 

When  Dr.  Kennard  called  at  the  jail  for  a  few  moments 
that  evening,  Allston  broached  this  subject  with  him,  but 
received  no  assistance  from  the  Doctor. 

"  Katharine  lives  in  the  hours  spent  with  you  now.  In 
a  few  days  the  parting  must  come.  It  will  be  hard  enough 
for  her  when  you  are  gone  beyond  her  reach ;  but  to  have 
you  so  near  and  voluntarily  to  give  up  seeing  you,  —  you 
understand  Katharine  well  enough  to  know  that  we  have 


1/2  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

no  right  to  ask  that  of  her.     She  could  not  endure  it,  and 
you  can  best  help  her  to  meet  the  final  separation." 

The  Milwaukee  and  Chicago  papers  all  gave  highly  sen- 
sational accounts  of  the  tragedy,  painting  the  scene  in  more 
or  less  lurid  lights,  according  to  the  Democratic  or  Republi- 
can tendencies  of  the  editor.  And  the  New  York  papers 
failed  not  to  mention  that  Allston  had  been  in  command 

of  the New  York  Regiment,  and  was  a  graduate  of 

Columbia  College  in  the  class  of  '59. 

Every  detail  of  Mr.  Irvington's  quiet  funeral  was  ex- 
panded to  its  utmost  importance  under  the  manipulation 
of  Milwaukee  reporters.  The  murderous  encounter  and 
its  fatal  result  served  to  point  the  moral  of  more  than  one 
Sabbath  discourse  in  the  vicinity  of  the  occurrence ;  and 
Robert  felt  the  haunting  sense  of  this  public  notoriety  and 
moral  distortion  like  an  actual  presence. 

Katharine  continued  to  go  to  the  jail,  but  her  visits  were 
shorter,  and  in  a  way  indefinable  to  herself  they  were  un- 
satisfactory. 

Robert  was  guarded  in  manner,  maintaining  a  quiet  re- 
serve which  Katharine  could  not  penetrate.  He  seemed 
rather  to  repel  than  to  seek  sympathy.  And  Katharine, 
sensitive  to  every  change  in  the  spirit  of  those  she  loved, 
yielded  to  this  impalpable  influence.  She  was  conscious 
also  of  being  observed  at  times  by  the  other  prisoners. 
More  than  once  she  had  caught  an  interested  and  amused 
glance  from  a  pair  of  blue  eyes,  and  one  time  the  old 
Methodist  sidled  up  and  peered  into  her  face  with  a  sudden, 
curious  gaze  that  startled  her.  As  Robert  spoke  sharply  to 
him,  the  old  man  stepped  quickly  and  softly  back,  wrink- 
ling his  face  in  deprecating  embarrassment. 

Finding  that  Allston  adhered  inflexibly  to  having  no  trial, 
Mr.  Dempster  abandoned  the  effort  to  alter  his  decision. 


CROSS-PURPOSES.  173 

Robert  grew  daily  more  impatient  of  every  delay.  The 
inactivity  of  the  jail-life  fretted  and  oppressed  him.  For 
Katharine's  sake  even  more  than  for  his  own,  he  was  anxious 
to  be  gone  from  Milwaukee.  He  felt  recklessly  indifferent 
as  to  what  the  sentence  might  be ;  the  past  and  the  pres- 
ent obscured  all  thought  of  the  future. 

After  thirteen  miserable  days  had  passed  he  was  taken 
into  court  to  answer  to  the  charge  of  manslaughter. 

The  prisoner  entered  the  plea  of  "  Guilty  "  with  no  ap- 
pearance of  emotion ;  but  when  he  stood  before  Judge 
Wentworth  and  received  the  sentence  of  imprisonment  for 
ten  years,  his  destiny  seemed  suddenly  projected  in  out- 
lines of  fire.  This  was  the  confirmation  and  seal  of  his 
own  remorse. 

After  his  return  to  his  cell  the  sheriff  reminded  him  that 
under  the  Wisconsin  law  the  sentence  actually  covered  but 
eight  years  and  four  months,  as  two  months  were  deducted 
from  each  year  during  which  the  prisoner  made  a  good 
record;  but  distinctions  of  time,  the  difference  of  two 
years  more  or  less,  seemed  nothing  to  Allston  then. 

When  Katharine  saw  Robert  the  next  morning,  she  kept 
her  composure  ;  but  the  interview  was  sad  and  constrained. 
The  sentence  lay  over  them  both  with  an  oppressive 
weight. 

"  But  when  these  years  of —  separation  —  are  over,  we 
shall  not  be  very  old,  even  then  •  and  we  shall  have  the 
future,  Robert,"  said  Katharine,  trying  to  hold  fast  to  hope, 
but  feeling  no  response  from  her  companion. 

"  Our  separation  never  will  be  over.  There  is  no  future  for 
me  ;  my  whole  life  is  ruined,  Katharine, — I  don't  care  to  look 
beyond  the  prison,"  replied  the  young  man  despairingly. 

"  We  shall  have  our  letters,"  Katharine  ventured,  ignor- 
ing what  his  words  implied,  and  clinging  to  whatever  might 
be  saved  from  their  shipwreck. 


174  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

"We  had  better  not  write  to  each  other;  I  want  to 
leave  you  wholly  free."  Robert  said  this  with  an  effort, 
not  trusting  himself  to  meet  her  troubled,  appealing  eyes. 

But  all  the  appeal  vanished  from  her  eyes  as  she  an- 
swered proudly :  "  And  I  want  to  be  free.  But  do  you 
think  that  to  be  faithless  is  to  be  free  ?  Robert  Allston,  I 
thought  you  knew  me  better  !  I  am  going  to  leave  you  now. 
I  want  to  think  —  Good-bye  !  Come,  papa,"  she  added 
hurriedly,  very  much  afraid  that  the  hurt  and  indignant 
tears  would  overflow  before  she  could  escape. 

She  retained  her  self-control  until  she  was  safe  in  the 
seclusion  of  her  own  room ;  and  then  the  tempest  of  tears 
had  its  way. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

CONSERVATIVE  AND   RADICAL. 

RS.  KENNARD  sat  alone  in  her  room  mechani- 
cally filling  in  the  intricate  pattern  of  a  piece 
of  embroidery.  Her  thoughts  were  brooding 
gloomily  over  an  indefinable  and  intangible  bar- 
rier which  seemed  to  exist  between  herself  and  her  daugh- 
ter during  this  trouble  that  darkened  their  home. 

Mrs.  Kennard  had  been  at  variance  with  herself  since 
the  occurrence  of  the  tragedy.  With  the  passing  of  the 
first  shock  of  the  intelligence  came  a  spontaneous  feeling 
of  admiration  for  Colonel  Allston.  "  He  could  have  done 
nothing  less ;  as  a  gentleman  he  was  bound  to  take  in- 
stant satisfaction,"  she  thought,  feeling  that  a  Southerner 
would  have  drawn  a  pistol  and  shot  any  man  under  the 
circumstances. 

Clearly,  honor  demanded  this  defence  of  an  affianced 
wife ;  and  she  took  an  early  opportunity  for  a  short  inter- 
view with  the  Colonel,  during  which  she  spoke  with  enthus- 
iasm of  his  fine,  chivalrous  conduct.  Later,  as  her  religious 
feeling  became  dominant,  she  went  again  to  see  the  prisoner, 
and  urged  upon  him  the  necessity  of  repentance  and  of 
seeking  divine  forgiveness.  The  more  she  thought  of  it, 
the  darker  appeared  the  sin ;  there  could  be  no  doubt  that 
the  taking  of  life  was  a  violation  of  the  most  sacred  law  of 


1/6  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

God  and  man.  And  yet,  all  the  time  she  felt  that  it  would 
have  been  unpardonable  in  Allston  to  have  refrained  from 
the  fatal  blow. 

She  would  greatly  have  preferred  that  Katharine  should 
remain  away  from  Robert.  That  seemed  to  her  the  deli- 
cate and  proper  course ;  but  Katharine's  state  of  mind  had 
made  the  first  interview  imperative,  and  afterwards  the 
Doctor  had  insisted  that  she  should  be  allowed  the  sad 
satisfaction  of  continuing  her  visits.  Neither  Katharine 
nor  her  mother  had  referred  to  the  future,  and  Katharine 
seemed  averse  to  speaking  of  her  sorrow.  It  disappointed 
Mrs.  Kennard  that  Katharine  did  not  weep  out  her  grief 
in  her  mother's  arms.  She  longed  to  caress  and  comfort 
the  poor  girl,  and  to  impart  to  her  the  spiritual  strength 
which  she  had  gained  from  her  own  sorrows. 

A  fire  in  the  grate  was  burning  brightly,  the  library  was 
fragrant  with  freshly  gathered  hyacinths,  and  was  cheerful 
as  Mrs.  Kennard  could  make  it ;  but  here  she  sat  alone, 
debarred  even  the  relief  of  expressing  her  sympathy. 
Katharine  had  made  no  allusion  to  her  interview  with 
Robert  that  morning,  but  had  hurried  away  to  her  room, 
and  had  remained  there  until  dinner-time ;  and  then  she 
had  eaten  nothing,  and  her  feverish  attempts  at  conversa- 
tion were  more  depressing  than  silence. 

After  dinner  Mrs.  Kennard  had  thrown  her  arm  around 
her  daughter,  and  drawn  her  into  the  library ;  but  Kath- 
arine only  exclaimed,  "  How  close  it  is  here  ! "  and  in  a 
moment  she  had  slipped  away  from  her  mother's  embrace 
and  left  the  room. 

Damp  and  chilly  as  the  day  was  outside,  with  the  sky 
heavily  overcast,  Katharine  had  wrapped  herself  in  her 
favorite  Scotch  plaid  and  gone  out,  and  her  mother  lis- 
tened to  her  ceaseless  step  up  and  down,  up  and  down 
the  long  piazza.. 


CONSERVATIVE  AND  RADICAL.  IJJ 

The  lonely  afternoon  wore  on,  and  Katharine's  step  grew 
slower ;  but  still  she  did  not  come  in  until  her  father's 
return,  when  she  followed  him  into  the  study  and  closed 
the  door. 

They  had  been  there  for  some  time  when  Mrs.  Kennard 
said  to  herself :  "  I  am  growing  morbid.  I  'm  not  going  to 
let  myself  feel  left  out  like  this.  I  shall  join  those  two." 
She  began  to  roll  up  her  embroidery ;  but  her  movement 
was  arrested  by  the  opening  of  the  door  and  the  entrance 
of  Katharine. 

"  I  have  missed  you,  my  darling,"  the  mother  said,  look- 
ing up  affectionately,  and  noticing  how  pale  her  daughter 
was,  and  what  a  look  of  decision  was  developing  in  her  face. 

Katharine  gave  a  kiss  for  answer ;  then  drawing  up  a  low 
seat,  she  settled  herself  down  close  beside  her  mother,  as  she 
had  done  a  thousand  times  before.  She  tossed  the  embroid- 
ery out  of  the  way  and  imprisoned  the  disengaged  hands  in 
hers.  This  was  her  feminine  mode  of  preparing  for  warfare. 

"Robert  will  be  going  away  within  a  week,"  Katharine 
said,  advancing  directly  towards  the  point  at  issue ;  "  and 
before  he  goes  I  wish  to  become  his  wife." 

Had  a  bombshell  exploded  at  her  feet,  Mrs.  Kennard 
would  have  been  scarcely  more  startled.  "  Katharine  ! 
that  is  impossible;  that  is  not  to  be  thought  of!"  she 
asserted,  with  all  the  weight  of  maternal  authority. 

"  I  can  think  of  nothing  else.  It  seems  to  me  the  one 
thing  in  the  world  for  me  to  do.  If  it  had  not  been  for  me, 
all  this  never  would  have  happened.  Don't  you  see  how  our 
destinies  are  bound  together  ?  Robert's  love  for  me  brought 
on  the  tragedy,  and  my  love  for  him  shall  be  his  support 
through  all  its  consequences.  I  'm  not  going  to  turn  away 
from  him.  I  belong  to  him  forever ;  "  and  the  girl  withdrew 
her  hands  and  clasped  them  tightly  together :  determination 
was  written  in  every  line  of  her  face  and  attitude. 

12 


1/8  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

"  Hush,  Katharine  !  You  are  wild  to  talk  in  that  way. 
Neither  your  father  nor  I  would  listen  to  such  a  thing  for 
a  moment." 

"  Papa  will  help  me." 

"  You  speak  very  confidently." 

"  Papa  will  help  me ;  he  and  you  do  not  always  see 
things  alike." 

This  gratuitous  piece  of  information  touched  Mrs.  Ken- 
nard  on  a  sensitive  point.  She  herself  suspected  this  fact, 
but  never  admitted  it;  and  her  daughter's  discovery  was 
most  displeasing. 

"You  don't  know  what  you  are  saying,"  was  her  cold 
reply.  "  If  your  father  ever  gives  his  consent,  it  will  be 
against  his  judgment  and  his  conscience,  —  merely  because 
he  never  has  crossed  you  in  anything,  and  so  cannot  nerve 
himself  now  to  refuse  you.  But  Robert  Allston  is  made  of 
sterner  stuff.  He  is  not  going  to  let  you  throw  away  your 
future.  You  are  wholly  innocent  in  the  matter.  The  sin 
and  sorrow  touch  you  very  nearly,  but  you  are  in  no  way 
responsible.  Your  duty  now  is  submission ;  as  a  Christian 
girl  you  must  learn  the  hard  lesson." 

"  Submission  is  the  refuge  of  weak  natures.  There 's 
something  better  than  submission  where  the  living  are 
concerned.  Christians  ought  to  do  what  they  can  to  make 
things  better,"  said  the  girl  impetuously.  "  Endure  !  It 
would  kill  me  to  endure  all  this,  knowing  that  I  was  faith- 
less to  Robert,  when  I  was  all  that  was  left  him,  and  the 
cause  of  all  his  trouble.  How  long  do  you  think  I  could 
live  and  endure  that?  "  she  demanded  imperatively. 

Mrs.  Kennard  was  unmoved  by  Katharine's  excitement. 
The  path  of  duty  seemed  very  clear  and  straight  to  her,  and 
she  was  not  going  to  falter  in  leading  her  daughter  through 
it.  She  calmly  proceeded,  — 

"  We  can  endure  far  more  than  we  think  we  can.     You 


CONSERVATIVE  AND  RADICAL.  179 

are  young  now ;  but  for  all  your  impetuous  rebellion  against 
Fate,  you  will  find  that  you  have  strength  to  bear  what  is 
right." 

"But  it  wouldn't  be  right  for  me  to  desert  Robert. 
How  can  you  think  that  would  be  right?" 

"  I  '11  tell  you  why  it  would  be  right.  Apart  from  the 
sacrifice  of  yourself  and  the  ruin  of  your  future,  there  is 
another  reason  that  you  must  recognize.  If  you  should 
become  Robert's  wife,  you  might  some  time  become  the 
mother  of  Robert's  children.  You  have  no  right  to  entail 
upon  them  the  disgrace  inseparable  from  Robert  after  he 
has  been  in  prison.  The  sins  of  the  fathers  are  visited 
upon  the  children  ;  I  know  that.  Is  it  not  enough  for  me 
to  have  learned  that  lesson  for  you  ?  Must  you  go  on  to 
prove  it  by  your  own  bitter  experience  ?  Must  you  go  on 
in  your  wilful  and  reckless  way,  and  bring  Heaven's  curse 
upon  the  generations  after  you?  I  tell  you,  Katharine, 
that  dead  man  separates  you  and  Robert  for  this  life.  You 
cannot  argue  away  that  fact ;  you  must  accept  it,  and  learn 
submission.  The  last  effort  of  your  love  for  Robert  must 
be  to  help  him  to  give  you  up." 

Mrs.  Kennard  spoke  from  her  deepest  conviction.  It 
seemed  to  her  now  that  for  all  her  life  she  had  been  pre- 
paring for  just  this  crisis ;  and  she  felt  strong  to  save  her 
daughter  from  this  rock  of  destruction  upon  which  she 
seemed  determined  to  bind  herself. 

But  to  Katharine,  with  her  whole  being  concentrated  in 
Robert  and  to-day,  no  possibility  seemed  more  remote 
than  "a  future  generation."  She  brushed  away  her  moth- 
er's calm  reasons  as  slighter  than  cobwebs.  The  living 
present  filled  her  thought,  and  crowded  out  all  premonitions 
from  the  future. 

"  I  shall  never  help  Robert  to  give  me  up ;  I  shall  never 
consent  to  giving  him  up,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone. 


ISO  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

"  Mother,"  she  added  gently,  with  a  sweet,  wistful  look  in 
her  eyes,  "I  thought  that  you  believed  in  love.  Don't 
you  remember  an  old  song  that  you  used  to  sing,  how 
water  once  mingled  with  wine  could  never  be  itself  again  ? 
and  how  two  hearts  once  united  were  one  forever?" 
"  Don't  bring  in  sentiment  at  a  time  like  this." 
Katharine  looked  at  her  mother  inquiringly.  "  I  don't 
know  that  love  is  sentiment,  any  more  than  religion  is  sen- 
timent ;  they  are  both  very  important  facts  in  life/'  she 
said  slowly.  "  But  it  makes  no  difference  ;  I  am  going  to 
marry  Robert  before  he  goes  to  prison,  if  he  will  consent. 
But  it  grieves  me,  mother,  that  you  don't  feel  with  me  as 
papa  does." 

Mrs.  Kennard  flushed;  she  was  hurt  and  angry  and 
shocked  by  the  way  in  which  her  authority  and  opinion 
were  ignored;  but  she  kept  her  self-control  and  dignity, 
and  trusted  that  Robert's  decision  would  uphold  her. 
When  she  spoke  again  it  was  to  ask, — 

"  Will  you  tell  me  just  what  your  father  said  ?  " 
"We  talked  it  all  over  together,  and  he  said  that  he 
wanted  me  to  feel  free  to  act  on  my  own  judgment ;  that 
I  was  a  woman,  and  that  my  life  was  my  own ;  that  my 
conscience  was  as  much  to  be  trusted  in  this  matter  as  any 
one's  conscience  ;  and  that  if  I  were  satisfied  as  to  what  is 
right,  he  would  stand  by  me.  And  he  spoke  to  me  about 
the  sacredness  of  human  life,  and  what  an  awful  thing  it  is 
for  one  to  take  another's  life.  And  he  asked  me  if  I  re- 
membered what  was  said  about  that  in  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount.  And,  mother,  have  you  thought  that  there  the 
man  who  is  angry  with  his  brother  without  a  cause  is  put 
on  the  same  level,  morally,  as  the  man  who  kills  another? 
Papa  said  that  probably  any  man  under  certain  circum- 
stances was  capable  of  killing  another,  that  every  one  is 
capable  of  anger,  and  that  it  is  where  feeling  becomes 


CONSERVATIVE  AND  RADICAL.  I  Si 

uncontrollable  and  passes  into  action  that  a  life  is  taken  or 
an  injury  done.  He  said  that  the  law  was  forced  to  judge 
men  by  their  acts,  but  that  we  who  call  ourselves  Chris- 
tians ought  to  judge  one  another  by  character ;  and  that 
in  all  this  disgrace  and  trouble  Robert's  character  had  rung 
true  as  steel;  that  his  sincerity,  courage,  and  generosity 
had  stood  out  in  clearest  relief.  He  said  that  only  since 
the  trouble  came  had  he  appreciated  the  elevation  and 
nobility  of  Robert's  character." 

The  girl's  voice  trembled  with  mingled  emotions  as  she 
said  this ;  but  her  tone  lowered  as  she  added  with  an  effort : 
"  And  if  I  am  sure  that  I  am  strong  enough  to  bear  all  that 
our  marriage  may  involve,  papa  will  feel  that  I  am  doing 
right.  He  understands  how  much  it  would  be  to  me  to 
have  a  recognized  right  to  care  for  Robert,  and  that  it 
would,  in  a  way,  be  a  vindication  of  Robert's  character; 
that  it  would  be  letting  the  world  know  that  it  was  for  my 
sake  that  he  struck  Mr.  Irvington." 

"  But  the  wife  of  a  convict,  Katharine  !  Have  you  thought 
of  all  the  disgrace?  "  was  her  mother's  last  appeal. 

"  It  will  be  no  disgrace.  It  can  never  be  anything  but 
an  honor  to  me  to  be  Robert  Allston's  wife."  And 
Katharine  crossed  the  floor  and  left  the  room. 

"  To  think  that  a  girl  who  moves  like  a  princess  and  has 
the  soul  of  a  saint  should  make  this  reckless  sacrifice  ! 
I  cannot  bear  it,"  was  the  mother's  bitter  thought. 


9    CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE    LAWSUIT    ENDED. 

N  the  gray  twilight  of  that  same  evening  Allston 
sat  alone  in  his  cell,  his  heart  sunk  in  the  deep- 
est gloom.  The  Methodist  crank  was  slowly 
wailing  out,  — 

"  And  just  before 
The  shining  shore 
We  may  almost  discover," — 

and  the  fresh  young  tones  of  the  blue-eyed  boy  joined  in 
for  a  verse,  while  two  or  three  others  took  up  the  refrain 
of  the  chorus.  The  singers  might  have  enjoyed  it,  but  to 
Allston  it  seemed  only  to  deepen  the  melancholy  of  the 
hour. 

The  young  man  had  become  somewhat  acquainted  with 
his  associates  during  the  past  two  weeks.  Harry  Bangs, 
the  blue-eyed  boy,  proved  rather  interesting. 

"What  are  you  here  for?"  Allston  had  asked  him  one 
day. 

"  Stealing  oysters.  You  see  me  and  some  of  the  other 
fellows  wanted  to  have  an  oyster-supper  one  night,  'n'  I 
volunteered  to  get  the  oysters ;  but  the  oysters  got  me. 
Yes,  sir,  ninety  days  in  here  for  them  oysters,  and  I  did  n't 
have  the  pleasure  of  tasting  one  of  "em." 


THE  LAWSUIT  ENDED.  183 

"  Did  you  ever  steal  before  ?  " 

"  Peanuts,  when  I  could  get  a  chance,  and  little  things 
like  that,"  the  boy  replied,  with  engaging  frankness. 

"Were  you  going  to  school?" 

"  Yes,  I  Ve  been  to  school  pretty  regular." 

"  Why  don't  you  send  for  your  books  and  keep  up  with 
your  classes  in  here  ?  " 

"  Crackey  !  I  was  n't  sent  here  to  learn  out  of  books. 
I  was  sent  here  to  learn  honesty  from  that  old  cheating 
card-player  over  there.  When  the  judge  sentenced  me  he 
said,  '  I  hope  you  '11  learn  a  lesson  that  you  won't  forget, 
and  keep  out  of  bad  company  after  this.'  I  guess  he  didn't 
think  much  about  the  company  he  was  sending  me  into,  or 
the  kind  of  lessons  they  'd  give  me.  School-books  in  here  ! 
Oh,  Jiminy  Crickets  !  I  won't  go  back  to  school  neither, 
to  have  the  boys  call  me  '  jail-bird.'  But  I  s'pose  they 
have  to  do  something  with  a  fellow  when  they  ketch  him. 
I  bet  there  won't  be  a  Milwaukee  boy  can  get  ahead  of  me 
in  cheating  at  cards  when  I  get  out  of  here." 

The  weak-minded  Ben  was  not  so  communicative. 

Allston  one  day  asked  Mr.  Dempster  if  he  thought  Ben 
a  proper  subject  for  the  penitentiary. 

"  Well,  no,  I  don't,"  the  lawyer  admitted ;  "  but  you  see 
it 's  one  of  the  cases  that  the  State  makes  no  provision  for. 
The  neighbors  say  the  fellow  can't  read,  that  he  can't 
count  ten ;  but  he  stole  some  one's  money, —  twenty  dol- 
lars or  thereabouts,  —  and  that 's  a  State's  prison  offence. 
Now,  there  ought  to  be  a  place  for  feeble-minded  criminals, 
but  there  is  none  provided.  When  the  sheriff  takes  that 
boy  to  prison  he  will  speak  to  the  warden  about  him,  and 
they  will  give  him  some  light  work.  He  will  get  along ;  it 
would  be  harder  for  him  if  he  had  a  little  more  sense. 
When  a  prisoner  is  half  a  fool,  he  is  likely  to  have  a  hard 
time,  because  he  is  credited  with  more  sense  than  he 


1 84  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

possesses,  and  his  stupidity  is  likely  to  be  called  obstinacy. 
A  criminal  is  not  often  a  man  of  average  sense.  He  is  usu- 
ally either  keen  and  quick-witted,  sharp  and  foxy,  or  he  is 
weak  mentally.  Of  course  many  of  them  are  simply  bad ; 
but  I  tell  you,  Colonel,  they  are  a  curious  study  as  a  class." 

But  Allston  was  not  thinking  of  his  fellow-prisoners,  nor 
was  he  even  conscious  of  his  own  isolation  as  the  voices  of 
his  companions  chanted  through  the  "  Shining  Shore ; "  nor 
did  he  notice  the  transition  from  hymns  to  lighter  melo- 
dies. It  was  the  sentence  that  Judge  Wentworth  had  pro- 
nounced that  formed  the  key-stone  in  the  gloomy  arch  of 
his  thoughts. 

He  was  recalled  to  the  outer  world  as  the  sheriff  sum- 
moned him  to  see  a  visitor.  In  the  deepening  dusk 
Robert  did  not  at  first  recognize  the  shabby '  figure  of  Mr. 
Giddings,  and  annoyance  at  the  intrusion  chilled  the  greet- 
ing which  Mr.  Giddings  received. 

"  If  you  wish  to  have  any  communication  with  me,  it  can 
be  carried  on  through  my  lawyer,"  Allston  announced  with 
discouraging  stiffness. 

"  But  I  wished  to  see  you.  I  have  been  very  miserable 
myself,"  Giddings  began  nervously.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  had  in 
some  way  had  a  hand  in  this  business ;  I  feel  very  guilty 
about  it." 

The  man  was  excited,  and  it  was  very  evident  that  his 
misery  was  genuine. 

"  I  have  come  to  tell  you  that  I  shall  withdraw  the  suit," 
he  continued ;  "  that 's  all  I  can  do  now.  I  wish  to 
Heaven  Mr.  Irvington  had  never  told  me  of  the  flaw  in 
your  title,"  he  added  unguardedly. 

Allston  compressed  his  lips  ;  but  as  Giddings  evidently 
expected  him  to  say  something,  he  exclaimed  bitterly  :  "  It 
has  been  the  devil's  own  work  throughout.  It  is  small 
consolation  at  this  time  that  you  offer  to  relinquish  all 


THE  LAWSUIT  ENDED.  185 

claim  on  the  property.  What  is  the  property,  or  anything 
else  in  the  world,  to  me  now? " 

"Oh,  yes!  I  know,  I  know,"  piteously  assented  Mr. 
Giddings. 

"  But  I  should  like  to  ask  you  a  question  or  two  for  my 
own  satisfaction,  now  that  you  are  here,"  said  Allston, 
facing  the  man  squarely,  although  it  was  too  dark  for  them 
to  see  each  other's  faces.  "  Don't  you  believe  that  your 
father  received  the  full  value  of  the  land  from  Mr.  Howe?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  that,"  was  the  helpless  admission. 

"  And  you  believe  that  the  property  was  fairly  transferred 
from  Mr.  Howe  to  Walter  Allston?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  that." 

"  And  you  believe  that  Walter  Allston  is  dead,  and  I  am 
his  son?" 

"Yes,  oh  yes!" 

"  And  yet  you  claimed  that  property  !  Well,  sir  ! "  — 
and  the  pause  that  followed  was  eloquent  with  contempt. 

The  weaker  nature  writhed  under  this  merciless  cate- 
chism and  the  final  comment.  He  saw  that  Allston's  points 
were  very  clear ;  and  yet  he  felt  that  he  really  was  not  the 
wretch  that  Allston  made  him  out  to  be. 

"But  you  don't  understand  me,"  he  flutteringly  pro- 
tested ;  "  I  never  thought  of  being  dishonest  in  the  matter." 

"You  ought  to  have  thought  of  being  honest,"  was  the 
curt  interruption. 

"  I  know  it,"  was  meekly  conceded,  "  I  know  it ;  but  I 
did  not  suppose  the  law  upheld  dishonesty.  I  supposed  the 
law  was  always  in  the  interest  of  justice ;  and  when  it 
seemed  clear  that  the  law  was  on  my  side,  that  satisfied  me. 
I  was  in  a  dreadful  tight  pinch  just  then  ;  I  haven't  been 
making  anything  for  a  long  time,  and  I  don't  know  what  I 
am  going  to  do,  any  way ;  "  and  a  sigh  escaped  him  as  he 
realized  the  weight  of  his  own  burdens.  "  I  always  was 


1 86  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

unlucky.  I'  ve  got  a  wife  and  three  little  children,  and  I  'ra 
head  over  ears  in  debt,  and  I  did  n't  know  where  to  turn ; 
and  when  I  heard  of  your  defective  title,  it  just  seemed  to 
meet  my  needs.  But  I  wish  we  had  all  gone  to  the  poor- 
house  sooner  than  to  have  had  this  happen.  I  was  in  the 
wrong,  and  you  're  the  one  that 's  got  to  suffer.  I  can't 
see  where  any  kind  of  justice  comes  in." 

During  this  hesitating,  jerky  speech,  Allston's  contempt 
was  insensibly  softened  into  pity.  How  indeed  could  this 
broken-down  old  man,  trammelled  by  debt,  weakened  by 
discouragement,  provide  for  the  wants  of  the  young  family  ? 
He  did  seem  to  be  honest  in  his  intentions,  and  this  claim  on 
valuable  property  must  inevitably  have  presented  itself  as  a 
strong  temptation.  And  how  little  force,  either  resisting  or 
aggressive,  the  man  possessed  !  How  little  was  he  fitted  to 
grapple  with  life  !  He  had  no  doubt  lost  his  own  rights  many 
a  time  from  sheer  lack  of  ability  to  defend  them.  The 
young  man's  anger  had  melted  when  he  spoke  again  ;  there 
was  little  room  in  his  heart  for  any  personal  resentment. 

"  And  so  you  are  willing  to  withdraw  the  suit :  if  that  is 
the  case,  we  may  as  well  shake  hands  over  the  matter  and 
come  to  an  amicable  settlement.  There  is  no  question  but 
that,  morally,  the  land  belongs  to  me ;  however,  under  the 
courts  you  have  a  legal  claim.  I  shall  ask  you  to  give  me 
a  quitclaim  deed  of  the  land  :  in  return,  an  amount  equiva- 
lent to  a  fair  rental  for  the  property  shall  be  paid  to  you 
or  your  heirs  for  a  period  of  ten  years.  I'll  have  that 
arranged  with  my  lawyer  to-morrow." 

"  You  are  too  generous  to  me,"  said  the  older  man,  with 
an  unsteady  voice. 

"You  forget  that  if  you  chose  to  press  the  claim,  the 
courts  might  award  you  more  than  I  am  giving.  This  ar- 
rangement is  perfectly  satisfactory  to  me,  and  I  am  glad  to 
have  the  matter  settled." 


THE  LAWSUIT  ENDED.  1 87 

"  There 's  no  reason  why  you  should  do  me  a  good  turn 
after  all  the  trouble  I  've  cost  you." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  I  thought  that  we  had  better  au- 
thority than  State-laws  for  settling  our  scores  in  that  way," 
replied  Robert  wearily,  willing  to  be  guided  by  those  fa- 
miliar, enduring  high-lights  amid  the  destruction  of  his  own 
hopes  and  ambitions. 

Still  Mr.  Giddings  gloomily*  shook  his  head.  "  I  can't 
accept  your  offer ;  it  is  n't  just  to  you.  My  wife  would  n't 
touch  a  cent  of  money  from  that  property,  —  not  if  she 
starved.  When  she  found  out  all  about  the  case,  we  had  an 
awful  scene.  She  said  it  was  downright  stealing.  She 's 
got  a  temper,  my  wife  has,  but  she  's  got  a  clear  sense  of 
honesty.  It  would  take  a  pretty  smart  lawyer  to  fool 
Mattie,  I  can  tell  you,"  he  said,  with  a  flash  of  marital 
pride. 

Allston  smiled  faintly,  wondering  how  much  Mattie  had 
to  do  with  this  visit. 

"  Well,  5'ou  talk  the  matter  over  with  your  wife ;  and  if 
she  does  n't  think  it  is  just  to  me,  ask  her  to  let  me  have 
the  luxury  of  being  generous  once  before  I  go  to  prison. 
Now,  let  us  call  it  settled.  Good-night !  " 

The  next  day  Allston  received  a  note  from  "  Mattie ;  " 
he  opened  it  and  read  :  — 

MR.  ALLSTON,  —  My  husband  told  me  of  your  offer  last 
evening,  and  I  would  not  hear  of  it.  But  in  the  night  my 
husband  was  taken  sick,  —  it  is  his  lungs,  and  the  doctor  says 
it  may  turn  into  lung-fever.  I  do  not  know  what  we  shall  do. 
I  accept  your  gift,  and  may  God  forgive  me  !  I  take  it  as  a 
gift,  and  not  for  my  husband  or  for  myself,  but  for  the  little 
children.  It  is  a  hard  world,  and  many  a  good  man  like  you 
has  to  suffer  through  the  mischief  of  a  bad  man;  but  I  had 
rather  been  you  than  Mr.  Irvington. 

MRS.  HENRY  GIDDINGS. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  HAREBELL  CLINGS  TO  THE  ROCK. 

jjHE  following  day,  when  Dr.  Kennard  and  his 
daughter  went  to  the  jail,  the  sheriff  permitted 
them  to  go  within  the  grating.  The  other 
prisoners  were  advised  to  give  the  Colonel  and 
his  friends  an  opportunity  for  private  conversation,  and 
accordingly  only  Allston  was  visible  when  Katharine 
came  in. 

Robert  felt  that  the  hour  had  come  for  them  both  to  face 
the  reality  of  final  separation.  This  necessity  had  grown  so 
familiar  to  him  that  he  could  not  understand  how  difficult  it 
was  going  to  be  for  Katharine  to  accept  it 

The  young  girl  came  into  that  dismal  jail  like  a  burst  of 
sunshine ;  she  threw  off  her  veil  and  wrap,  laid  aside  her 
hat,  and  at  once  invested  the  place  with  a  more  home-like 
atmosphere.  One  chair  and  a  short  bench  comprised  the 
seats  in  this  corridor. 

"You  shall  have  the  chair,  papa;  this  bench  is  large 
enough  for  Robert  and  me,  and  you  can  look  over  your 
newspaper  for  a  while.  Dear  me  !  Robert,  is  n't  this 
luxury,  to  be  sitting  beside  each  other  again?"  and  she 
smiled  up  to  the  young  man  with  a  look  very  like  hap- 
piness in  her  eyes. 


THE  HAREBELL   CLINGS   TO    THE  ROCK.      189 

All  the  morning  she  had  been  nerving  herself  for  this 
meeting,  which  she  anticipated  with  mingled  dread  and 
impatience ;  but  now  that  she  found  herself  beside  her 
lover,  free  from  observation,  with  no  iron  bars  between 
them,  the  simple  joy  of  this  free  communion  took  posses- 
sion of  her.  Shutting  out  all  thought  alike  of  past  and 
future,  she  appropriated  the  one  little  hour  as  if  it  were  a 
part  of  heaven  and  eternity.  The  stone  was  rolled  away 
from  her  heart,  and  her  youth,  her  love,  her  natural  long- 
ing for  happiness,  awoke  into  a  brief  resurrection.  Robert, 
too,  insensibly  yielded  to  the  tender  charm  of  her  nearness 
and  her  gladness.  They  fell  to  talking  of  little  personal 
matters,  and  before  she  knew  it,  Katharine  was  reverting  to 
the  days  before  the  shadow  fell,  and  reviving  the  memory 
of  those  brightest  scenes  in  both  their  lives. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  forget  any  of  those  beautiful  hours 
with  you ;  I  shall  treasure  them  always,  through  every- 
thing. I  don't  consider  that  the  remembrance  of  happier 
days  increases  present  sorrow,  Dante  and  Tennyson  to  the 
contrary,  notwithstanding.  I  know  it's  a  good  thing  for 
any  man  to  have  been  once  loved  by  a  good  woman ;  he 
can  never  be  quite  the  same  after  that,"  Robert  said,  with 
a  tender  light  from  the  past  reflected  in  his  eyes.  "  What 
you  were  to  me,  Katie,  is  all  that  I  have  left  now,  and  I 
shall  hold  on  to  that." 

Katharine's  animation  faded  as  she  saw  the  way  open  for 
her  to  claim  a  right  to  abide  by  that  past  and  to  insert  it 
as  the  foundation  of  their  future.  She  took  Robert's  hand 
in  both  hers,  and  with  a  voice  that  faltered  in  the  over- 
powering sense  of  the  momentous  advance  that  she  was 
making,  she  said,  — 

"  But  the  most  precious  of  all  is  the  remembrance  of  that 
afternoon  in  October,  —  you  remember,  dear,  when  you 
asked  me  for  my  hand.  And  I  gave  you  all  you  asked ;  I 


I QO  ffIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

gave  it  to  you  for  ever  and  ever.  Now,  dear,  I  ask  you  for 
this  hand  of  yours,  with  this  dark  mark  and  all  that  it 
means." 

"  All  that  that  mark  means,"  he  repeated  slowly,  as  he 
gently  withdrew  his  hand.  "  No,  no,  Katharine ;  that  ter- 
rible meaning  is  for  me  alone  to  know,  —  not  for  you, 
not  for  you,  my  darling;  Heaven  is  more  merciful  than 
that." 

Katharine  was  growing  very  grave  and  resolute  now ; 
she  did  not  swerve  from  her  purpose,  but  resumed  :  "  Be- 
fore you  go  away  I  wish  to  become  your  wife.  You  said 
yesterday  that  you  wanted  me  to  be  free.  I  want  to  be 
free,  —  free  to  love  you,  to  visit  you,  to  be  all  that  I  can 
be  to  you  while  you  are  in  prison,  and  for  all  your  life." 

There  was  a  pause  before  Allston  replied.  He  could  not 
trust  himself  to  look  at  Katharine  as  he  warded  off  the 
meaning  of  her  words.  It  seemed  to  him  kinder  to  ignore 
than  to  refuse  directly  her  generous  offer.  To  wound  her 
love  and  pride  was  more  than  he  could  do ;  but  he  felt  the 
futility  of  evasion  even  when  he  spoke  :  — 

"  It  is  like  you  to  wish  to  be  all  that  you  can  be  to  me. 
You  are  infinitely  more  to  me  than  you  can  know,  and  I 
mean  to  keep  you  beyond  the  reach  of  the  curse  that  rests 
on  me.  If  I  could  only  know  that  you  were  going  to  be 
happy  again  in  some  new  relation,  I  could  bear  anything 
that  came  to  me." 

"  It  lies  in  your  power  to  give  me  the  only  happiness 
possible  to  me  now,  —  just  as  I  am  the  only  one  who  can 
win  you  to  new  hope  and  give  an  object  to  your  future." 
There  was  a  pathetic  ring  in  her  voice,  and  she  dared  not 
raise  her  eyes. 

"  You  are  so  young,  dear ;  you  cannot  realize  what  you 
are  asking.  No  woman  can  ever  bear  my  name ;  I  must 
live  my  life  alone.  Maybe  there's  manliness  enough  in 


THE  HAREBELL   CLINGS   TO  THE   ROCK.      191 

me  to  amount  to  something  for  the  sake  of  my  own  self- 
respect.  I  don't  know  about  that ;  but  I  do  know  that  if  I 
cared  less  for  you  it  would  be  easier  for  me  to  yield  to  your 
wish.  But  now,  through  the  very  depth  and  sacredness  of 
my  feeling  for  you,  I  am  bound  in  honor  not  to  think  of 
such  a  thing." 

"Oh,  don't !     You  mean 

"  '  I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 
Loved  I  not  honor  more.' 

I  hate  that ;  I  wish  Lord  Lovelace  had  never  said  it. 
This  '  honor '  that  you  men  make  so  much  of  is  a  sort  of 
conventional  thing,  anyway ;  you  've  no  right  to  place  it 
above  everything.  Our  love  is  the  best,  the  purest,  the 
highest  thing  in  our  lives,"  she  retorted  impetuously. 

Robert  waited  a  moment  for  her  to  calm  down  before  he 
answered  :  "  It  was  not  Lovelace  that  I  was  thinking  of,  it 
was  only  you.  I  don't  say  that  I  place  honor  above  love, 
but  I  cannot  entangle  your  future  with  mine.  Don't  force 
me  to  tear  myself  from  you ;  it  is  hard  enough  for  us  both, 
Heaven  knows  !  "  he  said,  with  unsteady  voice.  "  Let  us 
help  each  other  to  do  what  is  right.  Give  me  your  help 
this  once  more ;  it  will  be  the  last  time  I  shall  ask  it.  You 
are  a  brave  girl ;  have  the  courage  to  take  back  your  free- 
dom,—  for  my  sake,  Katie  !  " 

His  entreating  tones  vibrated  through  Katharine's  heart, 
torturing  her  beyond  endurance.  She  sprang  to  her  feet 
with  fading  color  and  flashing  eyes. 

"  You  are  ungenerous  to  make  such  an  appeal ;  you  are 
cruel  beyond  anything  to  make  that  the  test  of  my  courage 
and  my  love  !  I  believed  that  I  could  rely  upon  you  ;  and 
now,  when  I  need  you  as  I  have  never  needed  any  one  in 
my  life,  you  desert  me.  In  such  sorrow  as  I  never  dreamed 
of,  you  take  from  me  the  one  support  that  could  help  me. 


1 92  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

You  have  plunged  me  in  this  awful  darkness  to  leave  me 
alone.  Do  you  call  that  manly  ?  Do  you  call  that  honor- 
able ?  You  tell  me  that  I  am  young.  Yes,  I  am  young ; 
and  so  are  you.  I  don't  know  all  the  suffering  that  may 
come  to  me  in  sharing  your  fate,  but  neither  do  you  know 
all  the  strength  and  the  good  that  may  come  to  us  both  by 
meeting  this  together  and  being  faithful  to  each  other.  Yes, 
we  are  young.  If  we  were  old,  separation  would  n't  mean 
such  an  awful  stretch  of  desolate  years,  and  we  should  n't 
need  each  other  as  we  do  now.  I  could  live  and  suffer  for 
a  thousand  years  for  you ;  but  without  you  —  without  you 
I  should  want  to  die  to-day  ! " 

These  burning  words  of  passionate  reproach  and  ardent 
affection  thrilled  and  bewildered  Allston.  He  turned  away, 
—  not  resolutely,  for  he  was  no  longer  so  sure  of  being  in  the 
right.  He  could  think  of  nothing  with  his  eyes  on  Katha- 
rine's eloquent  face ;  he  turned  away  to  regain  his  poise 
before  speaking. 

Katharine  misinterpreted  his  movement  into  a  repulse. 
Her  excitement  died ;  her  courage  and  strength  failed ; 
and  she  grasped  the  grating  for  support.  She  felt  that 
her  love  was  but  a  wave  uselessly  breaking  itself  against  a 
rock. 

"  Papa,"  she  whispered,  brokenly,  "  I  cannot  bear  this ; 
take  me  away." 

"  Wait  a  moment,  Katie."  Robert's  voice  was  husky 
with  emotion ;  he  turned  to  the  Doctor :  — 

"  She  is  your  child :  don't  consider  me ;  think  only  of 
her,  and  tell  me  what  is  best.  I  cannot  see  the  right  now. 
Your  vision  is  clearer  than  mine." 

He  had  believed  that  he  was  standing  on  the  firm  foun- 
dation of  duty ;  but  now  this  very  support  seemed  crumb- 
ling beneath  him.  The  unconscious  pride  which  had 
hardened  his  resolution  was  melting  rapidly.  A  new  light 


THE  HAREBELL   CLINGS   TO   THE  ROCK,      193 

was  breaking  upon  him ;  but  its  first  rays  only  dazzled  his 
vision  and  made  everything  indistinct. 

Dr.  Kennard  had  not  come  there  to  influence  the  de- 
velopment of  the  hour.  He  had  left  Katharine  free,  and 
the  same  freedom  belonged  to  Robert.  He  could  only  aid 
them  in  understanding  each  other. 

The  very  atmosphere  seemed  charged  with  emotional 
force.  Katharine  stood  erect  now,  intent,  electrified  by 
Robert's  words,  with  kindling  eyes  and  deepening  color. 
As  she  waited  for  her  father  to  speak,  she  felt  that  this  was 
the  supreme  moment  of  her  life. 

The  Doctor  answered  Robert's  appeal  very  quietly. 

"  What  is  best  for  one,  is  best  for  both,"  he  said ;  "  but 
I  think  you  are  not  just,  Robert,  in  leaving  Katharine  no 
freedom  of  choice.  This  is  a  matter  for  her  decision  as 
much  as  for  yours :  she  is  a  clear-sighted,  conscientious 
woman,  and  she  fully  realizes  the  meaning  of  the  step  she 
wishes  to  take.  You  have  set  aside  altogether  Katharine's 
love  for  you,  which  is  surely  one  of  the  most  important 
elements  in  the  case,  and  an  element  that  has  a  claim  to 
recognition.  Now,  if  woman  has  one  inalienable  right 
under  Heaven  and  in  the  sight  of  man,  it  is  to  stand  by  the 
man  she  loves  through  whatever  befalls  him.  You  and  I 
may  call  this  self-sacrifice ;  but  to  women  like  Katharine 
it  is  the  very  breath  of  their  souls.  And  to  her  dying  day 
Katharine  would  be  tormented  by  remorse  over  having 
been  the  cause  of  this  tragedy.  Robert,  you  know  what 
remorse  is :  do  you  wish  Katharine  to  know  also  ?  She 
can  no  more  escape  from  this  sorrow  than  you  can.  It  has 
enveloped  you  both :  can  you  bear  it  better  together,  or 
each  one  in  loneliness  ?  I  think  that  Katharine  would  find 
comfort  and  happiness  in  being  your  wife.  Robert  does 
not  know  you  as  well  as  I  do,  does  he?  "  the  Doctor  con- 
cluded, looking  up  at  his  daughter. 

13 


194  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

Allston  listened  as  if  in  a  dream  :  he  felt  the  force  of  the 
Doctor's  words;  he  saw  that  in  his  inflexibility  towards 
himself  he  had  come  near  sacrificing  Katharine.  He  re- 
cognized that  in  their  love  for  each  other  their  destinies 
were  already  united,  and  that  the  shield  and  protection  of 
marriage  belonged  to  Katharine.  He  had  not  a  thought 
of  what  the  marriage  would  be  to  himself;  he  saw  only 
that  it  was  right  and  best  for  her.  The  same  instinct  to 
protect  her  that  had  influenced  him  before,  still  held  its 
sway ;  but  he  realized  that  her  safety  lay  in  another  course. 

Wearied  with  emotion  and  suffering,  with  struggling 
against  the  natural  feeling  of  man  for  woman,  with  striving 
to  stem  the  current  of  her  love  as  well  as  his  own,  —  spent 
and  worn  with  conflict  as  he  was,  his  mind  did  not  receive 
at  once  the  meaning  of  the  change  which  his  newly  formed 
resolution  would  involve  for  himself.  He  turned  towards 
Katharine :  a  swift  movement,  and  the  young  girl  had 
crossed  over  to  him ;  her  arm  was  around  his  neck,  her 
head  resting  against  his  breast,  her  heart  beating  against 
his  own. 

Robert  looked  for  a  moment  into  her  luminous  uplifted 
eyes,  then  kissed  her  with  trembling  lips. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

A    LOVE-KNOT. 

WO  days  later  the  sheriffs  wife  and  her  hand- 
maiden, "  Mirandy,"  were  busily  at  work  in  a 
small  grated  room  in  the  jail  set  apart  for  the 
female  prisoners.  To  the  credit  of  the  sex,  be 
it  said  that  this  apartment  was  frequently  unoccupied,  and 
chanced  to  be  so  at  that  time. 

"  It  seems  funny  to  be  fixing  this  place  up  for  a  wed- 
ding, don't  it,  Mirandy  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Davis,  taking  a  survey 
with  her  hands  on  her  hips. 

"  The  weddin'  may  be  funny,  but  I  hain't  found  much 
fun  in  this  fixin',  —  scrubbin'  the  whole  place  over  yistiddy 
till  I  'most  took  the  skin  off  my  fingers.  That  new  soap  's 
awful  strong." 

"  Well,  you  got  it  clean,  anyway.  I  wanted  to  have 
them  come  over  to  the  rooms  to  get  married;  but  the 
sheriff  said  better  not,  if  we  could  make  this  place  decent. 
You  see  she  's  going  to  stay  here  to-night.  The  sheriff  or 
the  deputy  '11  be  with  them  to  see  that  they  don't  suicide 
or  anything  like  that.  There  's  no  telling  what  these  high- 
strung  folks  '11  be  up  to ;  and  we  had  to  fix  this  place  up, 
any  way." 

"The  girl 's  got  grit,"  sententiously  ejaculated  Mirandy. 


196  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

"  The  girl 's  got  grit  enough ;  but  I  'd  like  to  know  why 
her  father  and  mother  did  n't  have  grit  enough  to  break  off 
the  match.  Such  a  sweet-lookin'  young  thing  as  she  is  ! 
Why,  she  might  have  married  a  dozen  husbands,"  said  Mrs. 
Davis  energetically. 

"  She  'd  ought  to  gone  to  Utaw,"  drawled  the  girl. 

"  You  Ve  got  things  mixed,  Mirandy.  It  works  just  the 
other  way  in  Utah.  A  woman  there  has  to  be  content  with 
one  twelfth  of  one  husband.  Women's  rights  ain't  in 
fashion  in  Utah.  But  we  must  n't  waste  time,"  said  Mrs. 
Davis.  "  You  run  over  and  get  that  strip  of  new  rag  carpet 
out  of  the  store-room,  and  fetch  along  the  stand  out  of  the 
parlor;  and  tell  one  of  the  children  to  fetch  the  little 
rocker  out  of  my  room,  and  another  chair  or  two." 

Mirandy  returned  expeditiously. 

"  Well,  you  '11  be  beat,  Miss  Davis,"  she  announced.  "  If 
that  Miss  Dory  Crissfield  hain't  been  and  gone  and  left  the 
biggest  lot  of  roses  you  ever  seen,  and  she  said  they  was 
for  the  weddin'." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  We  '11  have  to  put  them  in  the  big 
celery-glass  and  lay  a  white  towel  over  the  stand.  Things 
are  going  to  have  a  sort  of  bridal  aspect,  after  all.  Harris 
did  a  good  job  of  whitewashing  here.  I  expect  it  '11  come 
off  on  the  Colonel's  coat;  but  he  won't  wear  a  civilized 
coat  much  longer,  poor  fellow." 

"  They  must  hate  them  convict  clo'es  awful  bad,"  com- 
mented Mirandy,  with  a  sympathetic  sigh.  "  Say,  Miss 
Davis,  is  it  true  that  the  bride  is  goin'  along  to  the  prison 
to-morrow?  " 

"  Yes  ;  it 's  settled  so.  The  deputy  's  going  to  take 
the  other  fellows,  and  the  sheriff  '11  go  in  another  car  with 
Colonel  Allston  and  his  wife  and  the  Doctor.  They  pay 
all  the  extra  expense.  She  wants  to  go,  and  I  guess  she 's 
strong-headed  when  her  mind  gets  set.  The  Colonel  will 


A   LOVE-KNOT.  197 

have  to  wear  the  handcuffs,  though ;  the  sheriff  can't  trust 
any  man  to  that  extent,  —  but  they  '11  manage  it  quietly,  so  's 
not  to  attract  notice.  The  sheriff 's  going  to  telegraph  for 
a  private  carriage  to  meet  them  at  the  cars." 

"Law!  but  ain't  money  powerful?"  said  the  girl,  re- 
flectively biting  her  thumb-nail.  "Seems  to  me,  though, 
the  Doctor  can't  have  much  business  tendin'  to  sick  folks, 
as  long  as  he  comes  to  the  jail  every  day  with  his  girl,  and 
now  goin'  off  to  Waupun  with  her." 

"  I  guess  the  Doctor  leaves  a  good  deal  to  his  partner 
these  days.  Dr.  Kennard  nearly  killed  himself  with  work 
for  years  back ;  but  since  he  took  in  Dr.  Briggs  he  's  let 
up  considerable,  and  he  seems  to  think  the  heavens  and 
all  of  this  daughter.  Well,  come  on  now,  Mirandy ;  I  '11 
bring  over  the  celery-glass  myself,  —  I  don't  dare  trust  it  to 
your  heedless  hands." 

Ten  minutes  later  the  roses  were  in  position,  with  a 
Bible,  which  Mrs.  Davis  considered  suitable  to  the  occa- 
sion, lying  beneath  them  on  the  white  cover  of  the  stand  ; 
and  the  little  apartment,  immaculate  as  scrubbing  and 
whitewash  could  make  it,  and  perfumed  with  the  fragrance 
of  the  flowers,  awaited  the  coming  of  the  bridal  party. 
The  solitude  was  not  long  unbroken. 

"  Why,  what  a  pleasant  little  place  !  "  was  Mrs.  Kennard's 
remark  as  she  and  Katharine  entered,  followed  by  Dr. 
Kennard  and  Mr.  Everett,  the  rector  of  St.  Mark's. 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  the  sheriff's  wife  has  evidently  done  her 
best,"  replied  the  rector. 

Katharine  crossed  over  to  the  stand  and  stood  beside 
the  roses.  Her  bridal  dress  was  a  simple  white  organdie, 
her  only  ornament  a  cluster  of  half-opened,  old-fashioned 
blush-roses.  Her  face,  white  as  a  lily,  was  lighted  and 
transfigured  by  the  radiance  of  her  eyes  into  a  rare  spirit- 
uelle  beauty. 


198  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

Colonel  Allston,  who  came  in  accompanied  by  the 
sheriff  and  Mr.  Dempster,  paused  to  shake  hands  with  Mrs. 
Kennard  and  the  rector,  and  then  approached  Katharine. 

"  I  am  uncertain  whether  this  is  an  angel  or  a  woman 
that  I  am  about  to  claim.  Won't  you  vanish  away  into 
spirit-land  if  I  touch  you  ?  " 

"  Take  both  my  hands  and  hold  them  fast,  and  see  if  I 
am  not  your  own  Katie." 

"  I  did  not  think  you  would  look  so  like  a  bride,"  he 
said,  with  undisguised  pleasure ;  "  but  you  are  the  very 
loveliest  bride  one  could  imagine.  Do  you  know  you  fairly 
startled  me  when  I  came  in ;  with  your  shining  eyes  and 
your  white  drapery  you  seemed  like  a  star  and  a  cloud. 
But  I  am  going  to  materialize  you ;  I  have  a  wedding- 
present  for  you ;  "  and  opening  a  package  that  he  had  laid 
on  the  stand,  he  handed  her  a  velvet  case. 

Shimmering  against  a  background  of  darkest  velvet  lay 
a  necklace  of  sapphires  set  in  a  delicate  silver  network  of 
Genoese  workmanship. 

"  They  were  my  mother's,  and  it  was  my  father's  wish 
that  they  should  be  given  to  my  wife,"  Robert  said  in  an 
undertone. 

"  Do  you  remember,  dear,  the  foundations  of  heaven  are 
of  sapphire?  How  beautiful  it  is  that  you  could  give  them 
to  me  to-day  !  Mamma,  will  you  come  here  ?  See,  these 
belonged  to  Robert's  mother ;  they  are  mine  now." 

"When  I  took  them  from  the  bank  this  morning,"  said 
Mr.  Dempster,  "  I  carried  them  around  to  Bissell's  to  be 
cleaned  ;  and  Bissell  went  into  an  ecstasy  over  the  rare  and 
unique  beauty  of  both  design  and  workmanship." 

While  the  others  were  engaged  in  admiration  of  the  jew- 
els, Robert  handed  Katharine  the  wedding-ring.  "Can 
you  read  the  inscription?  "  he  asked. 

" '  Mizpah ; '  but  I  don't  quite  remember  the  meaning." 


A  LOVE-KNOT.  199 

" '  The  Lord  watch  between  me  and  thee  while  we  are 
absent  one  from  another.'  " 

"  It  seems  just  meant  for  us,  does  n't  it  ?  How  did  you 
happen  to  think  of  it?  " 

"  I  saw  the  same  word  in  another  wedding-ring,  given  me 
by  a  dying  soldier  to  be  sent  to  his  home.  His  wife  had 
given  him  the  ring  when  they  were  married,  before  he  left 
her  to  join  the  army." 

"  And  she  must  have  felt  that  Mizpah  was  meant  just 
for  them." 

"  Katharine  must  wear  these  sapphires,"  broke  in  the 
voice  of  Mrs.  Kennard. 

Taking  the  jewels  from  their  case,  Katharine  held  them 
up  for  a  moment,  their  liquid  radiance  trembling  against 
her  hand  and  wrist ;  then  she  passed  them  to  her  mother, 
saying,  "  Will  you  clasp  them  around  my  neck  ?  " 

When  the  necklace  was  fastened,  Katharine  kissed  her 
father  and  mother,  looking  for  an  instant  into  the  depths  of 
her  mother's  sorrowful  eyes ;  then  she  took  her  place  at 
Robert's  side,  and  Mr.  Everett  stepped  forward. 

During  the  marriage-service,  which  was  read  slowly  and 
impressively,  Katharine,  except  when  receiving  the  ring, 
stood  absolutely  motionless,  with  a  rapt  expression,  as  if  she 
were  recording  her  vows  in  heaven. 

As  the  rector  uttered  the  closing  words,  a  low,  heart- 
broken, irrepressible  sob  escaped  Mrs.  Kennard,  and  she 
buried  her  face  against  the  breast  of  her  husband.  She  felt 
as  if  the  grave  had  closed  over  her  darling. 

Katharine,  looking  up  into  the  eyes  of  her  husband,  read 
there  a  love  beyond  all  question,  but  sorrow  that  was  im- 
measurable. She  realized  that  with  the  love  she  took  the 
sorrow  also,  as  thenceforth  a  part  of  her  life.  Not  even 
her  husband  knew  with  what  entire  self-consecration  she 
gave  and  received  the  first  kiss  after  her  marriage ;  nor  did 


2OO  ffIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

she  read  his  thought :  "  She  has  entered  into  my  sorrow, 
but  not,  thank  Heaven  !  into  my  sin." 

Mr.  Everett  had  the  tact  to  accept  Mrs.  Kennard's  emo- 
tion as  a  matter  of  course,  remarking :  "  I  suppose  that  a 
marriage  would  not  be  a  marriage  without  the  mother's 
tears ;  but  I  think,  Mrs.  Allston,  that  you  will  be  able  to 
convince  your  mother  that  you  are  still  her  daughter." 

And  then,  as  Katharine  laid  her  hand  on  her  mother's 
arm,  saying,  "  I  Ve  come  for  my  married  kiss,  mamma," 
Mrs.  Kennard  embraced  her  tenderly,  and  kissed  Robert 
also. 

It  was  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  the  little  gathering 
dispersed,  leaving  Katharine  and  Robert  with  the  sheriff. 

Mrs.  Kennard  sent  over  from  her  own  home  a  dainty 
supper  for  two,  which  was  arranged  on  the  little  stand  and 
served  under  the  shadow  of  the  roses.  Robert  was  re- 
minded of  the  quaint  German  custom  which  allowed  a  man 
condemned  to  death  to  order  whatever  he  pleased  for  his 
last  meal  before  execution. 

As  the  twilight  deepened,  a  beautiful  lamp  was  brought  in 
lighted,  and  bearing  a  card  inscribed,  "With  the  love  of 
Elsie  Vandyne ; "  and  a  few  minutes  later  Miss  Crissfield 
and  Mrs.  Vandyne  came  in  to  offer  their  congratulations, 
for  both  were  in  complete  sympathy  with  the  marriage. 

"  Here  they  are  with  their  lamp  and  their  flowers,  and 
Katharine  in  a  rocking-chair,  all  as  cosey  as  can  be,  looking 
as  if  matrimony  were  an  old  story  ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Criss- 
field as  they  entered. 

But  when  Mrs.  Vandyne  had  taken  one  good  look  at 
Katharine,  she  insisted  that  no  one  could  fail  to  recognize 
in  her  a  bride. 

"Where  did  you  get  those  sapphires?"  Dora  calmly 
inquired. 

"  They  belonged  to  Robert's  mother." 


A   LOVE-KNOT.  2OI 

'*  Family  jewels  —  how  patrician  !  and  they  seem  to  suit 
you  too,  my  dear." 

And  then  Katharine  made  her  acknowledgments  for  the 
remembrances  sent  in  by  the  ladies. 

"  We  wanted  to  do  some  little  thing  of  the  kind,  some- 
thing that  might  be  associated  with  this  evening,  and  would 
not  seem  intrusive,"  said  Miss  Crissfield.  "  I  thought  of  the 
flowers,  and  ransacked  Milwaukee  for  the  best  roses  to  be 
had,  —  and  they  are  the  best ;  but  Mrs.  Vandyne,  with  her 
German  sentiment,  had  a  happier  inspiration.  Yes,  Mrs. 
Vandyne,  I  'm  going  to  tell  them  just  what  you  said,  be- 
cause it  was  so  like  you.  She  said,  in  her  reflective  way  : 
'  Life  is  dark  around  them  now ;  if  only  I  could  give  them 
light,  —  yes,  I  will  give  them  a  lamp.  It  will  be  an  emblem 
of  my  desire,  and  outwardly,  at  least,  it  will  give  light  to 
them  for  this  evening.'  Tell  us,  is  it  ritualism  or  Sweden- 
borgianism  that  you  are  leaning  towards  with  your  em- 
blems and  symbols,  Mrs.  Vandyne  ?  "  added  Dora,  mortally 
afraid  of  growing  sentimental. 

But  Mrs.  Vandyne  had  turned  to  speak  to  Katharine, 
and  Colonel  Allston  improved  the  opportunity  to  say  in  a 
low  tone  to  Miss  Crissfield :  "  I  want  to  commend  my 
wife  especially  to  you ;  you  have  such  an  elastic,  vigorous 
nature,  and  yet  I  know  you  are  tenderly  sympathetic.  Do 
you  think  that  I  did  not  see  through  your  pretended  cheer- 
fulness when  you  came  in?  I  saw  you  bite  your  lip  and 
draw  in  your  breath  when  the  door  was  opened;  but  I 
knew  you  would  speak  brightly  as  you  did.  You  can  be 
so  much  to  Katharine  when  her  excitement  passes  off  and 
I  am  away ;  it  is  going  to  come  harder  on  her  than  she 
can  realize  now.  And  I  'd  be  glad  if  you  would  write  to 
me  once  in  a  while  and  tell  me  about  her.  I  know  that  a 
letter  from  you  would  do  me  good  too,  for  you  are  always 
so  hopeful." 


2O2  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

"Oh.  Colonel  Allston,  how  perfectly,  perfectly  dread- 
ful it  all  is  !  It  just  breaks  my  heart  to  think  of  it,  there  ! 
I  wish  I  could  tell  you  how  completely  you  and  Katharine 
have  my  sympathy ;  but  there  are  n't  any  words  that  touch 
the  matter  at  all.  But  I  will  be  good  to  her,  —  good  as  one 
woman  can  be  to  another ;  only  I  expect  that  no  one  ex- 
cept you  will  count  for  much  in  her  life  for  a  while.  Is  n't 
she  perfectly  lovely  to-night?  There  isn't  one  girl  in  a 
thousand  that  would  n't  look  common  the  moment  she  put 
on  that  necklace ;  but  it  only  seems  to  bring  out  her  air  of 
distinction." 

Here  Mrs.  Vandyne  gathered  up  her  white  shawl  and 
arose.  She  turned  to  Colonel  Allston  :  "  Before  I  say  good- 
bye to  you,  I  want  to  tell  you  a  little  secret  of  my  own,  for 
I  want  you  to  wish  me  happiness."  She  blushed  charm- 
ingly, and  hesitated  a  little  in  speaking.  "  When  I  was  in 
the  hospital,"  she  continued,  "I  saw  very  much  of  Dr. 
Baxter ;  our  duties  brought  us  often  together,  and  I  came 
to  know  him  better  than  I  have  ever  known  any  man  ex- 
cept my  father.  I  learned  that  his  kindness,  his  faithful- 
ness, his  ability,  were  always  to  be  relied  on ;  and  I  knew 
that  his  professional  standing  was  high.  He  was  most 
agreeable,  because  he  had  seen  much  of  the  world,  and  was 
well  educated.  The  sick  men  always  seemed  better  when 
he  was  with  them.  But  I  never  thought  to  marry  a  second 
time,  and  at  first  I  did  not  know  how  to  answer  Dr. 
Baxter  when  he  asked  me  to  be  his  wife.  But  since  I  am 
telling  you  all  this,  you  can  guess  how  I  did  answer  him  ;  " 
and  she  paused,  aware  that  she  had  now  become  the  centre 
of  interest. 

"  But  why  did  n't  you  tell  me,  Elsie  ?  "  said  Katharine, 
half  reproachfully,  inwardly  wondering  how  Mr.  Voss  would 
accept  this  news. 

"  Because  it  was  only  last  month  that  I  decided ;  and  I 


A  LOVE-KNOT.  2O3 

could  not  speak  to  you  of  my  happiness  lately,  you  know. 
But  now  that  your  husband  is  going  away,  and  we  have  all 
been  so  friendly  together  this  last  year,  I  wanted  to  tell 
him  before  I  said  good-bye.  And  now  I  must  say  good- 
bye to  you,  Colonel  Allston ;  and  may  Heaven  keep  you 
and  restore  you  to  your  wife  ! " 

"  You  are  all  so  kind  to  me  !  And  I  thank  you  very  much 
for  this  last  proof  of  your  confidence  and  regard,  Mrs. 
Vandyne,"  said  Allston,  trying  to  smile,  and  failing  miser- 
ably in  the  attempt. 

"  Good-bye,  Robert ! "  said  Dora,  giving  him  both  her 
hands,  and  looking  into  his  face  until  she  could  not  see 
for  tears. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

jjOCTOR  and  Mrs.  Kennard  came  over  for  a  short 
time ;  and  when  they  had  gone,  the  door  was 
locked  and  barred  for  the  night.  The  deputy- 
sheriff,  with  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  pitcher  of  strong 
coffee,  took  up  his  watch  inside  the  room.  He  sat  bolt 
upright,  in  a  stiff  wooden  chair,  facing  the  prisoner  and  his 
wife,  but  as  far  away  as  the  space  would  allow.  All  night 
long  he  never  spoke,  —  neither  did  he  sleep. 

"  And  so  we  have  been  married  quietly,  one  evening  in 
June,  as  you  proposed  six  weeks  ago,"  said  Katharine, 
drawing  her  chair  up  beside  her  husband's.  "  I  was  never 
locked  up  in  my  life  before ;  but  do  you  know,  now  that  I 
am  in  here  with  you,  and  that  door  securely  bolted,  I  only 
feel  as  if  all  the  world  was  locked  out." 

"  I  have  something  that  same  feeling  myself,  Katie." 

"  But  I  am  glad  that  we  did  not  have  to  be  married  by 
a  justice,  —  that  would  have  filled  mother's  cup  of  sorrow  to 
the  brim.  Nothing  could  have  so  far  reconciled  her  to  our 
marriage  as  the  fact  that  Mr.  Everett  consented  to  perform 
the  ceremony." 

"  Mr.  Everett  came  to  see  me  about  it  yesterday,  and  I 
think  he  was  uncertain  as  to  what  he  ought  to  do.  He  hardly 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS,  205 

liked  to  marry  me,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  said  that 
the  Church  could  not  turn  away  from  you  in  such  a  crisis 
in  your  life  ;  that  you  were  baptized  into  it  in  infancy,  con- 
firmed in  early  girlhood;  and  he  said  some  very  kind 
things  about  you,  Katie,  —  among  others,  that  you  could 
not  have  entered  a  sisterhood  with  a  purer  purpose  or  a 
deeper  conviction  that  it  was  right  than  you  had  in  this 
matter,  that  your  father  fully  sustained  you,  and  that  your 
mother  would  scarcely  consider  a  mere  legal  ceremony  a 
marriage  at  all,  and  that  you  could  not  be  expected  to  rec- 
ognize the  claims  of  the  Church  if  she  refused  you  her 
protection  now.  Of  course  it  was  a  delicate  matter  for 
him  to  touch  my  side  of  the  problem ;  and  I  felt  that  as 
long  as  I  asked  him  to  countenance  the  marriage,  it  was 
due  to  him  to  let  him  know  my  own  feelings  in  regard  to 
what  had  occurred.  I  talked  to  him,  Katie,  more  freely 
than  I  had  supposed  I  could  ever  talk  to  any  man, — 
there  's  something  in  him  that  inspires  confidence ;  and 
then  I  said :  '  Now,  I  ask  you  as  a  man,  not  as  a  minister, 
do  you  think  it  right  for  me  to  marry  Miss  Kennard? ' 

" '  Yes,  I  do,"  he  answered,  after  a  little  pause ;  and 
then  he  added  emphatically  :  '  But  it  is  not  just  in  you  to 
separate  the  minister  from  the  man,  for  no  minister  is  better 
than  himself  as  man ;  and  what  he  ought  to  do  as  man,  he 
need  never  fear  to  do  as  minister.' 

"  I  find  so  much  goodness  and  sense  in  people  recently, 
—  I  have  n't  met  any  one  in  a  superficial  way,  you  know ; 
and  I  suspect  the  most  of  us  are  really  swayed  by  higher 
motives  than  are  evident  in  our  conversation.  Now,  with 
all  my  adoration  of  you,  I  had  not  the  remotest  concep- 
tion of  your  real  elevation  of  character.  I  thought  that 
you  were  good,  because  you  could  not  help  being  good ; 
but  I  know  now  that  it  is  a  higher  sort  of  goodness  than 
that,  —  it 's  because  you  have  a  clear  spiritual  perception  of 


206  &SS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

the  things  that  are  unseen  and,  we  hope,  eternal,  and  you  try 
to  live  up  to  these  unseen  heights :  that's  what  is  meant 
by  living  by  faith,  is  n't  it,  dear  ?  I  can  understand  how  a 
faith  like  that  might  make  all  things  possible,  might  even 
make  it  possible  for  me,  when  I  have  my  liberty  again,  to 
live  a  life  worth  living,  even  if  I  had  not  you  ;  and  now  that 
this  great  trust  has  been  reposed  in  me,  now  that  I  have  you 
as  an  inspiration  and  a  pledge  that  I  have  not  forfeited  all 
the  rights  of  manhood,  surely  now  my  future  has  possibilities 
and  a  value  greater  than  I  thought  could  ever  be  given  it." 

"  See  ! "  she  said,  lifting  up  his  right  hand,  "  the  dark 
line  is  already  fading ;  "  and  he  did  not  attempt  to  with- 
draw his  hand  as  she  clasped  it  in  hers. 

He  did  not  know  that  already  her  affection  had  ceased 
to  perceive  in  that  mark  an  evidence  of  his  sin,  that  it  had 
become  to  her  rather  the  sign  of  the  cruel  injury  that  he  had 
given  his  own  existence;  for  Katharine  realized  that  the 
blow  which  caused  Mr.  Irvington's  death  took  something  far 
dearer  than  life  from  Robert  Allston. 

"There  is  something  more  that  I  wish  to  say  to 
you,"  her  husband  resumed.  "  It  seems  dreadful  to  put  it 
into  words,  but  I  believe  that  I  am  a  better  man  than  I 
was  before  this  occurred.  This  awful  fall  and  the  suffering 
growing  out  of  it  have  taught  me  to  know  myself,  and  to 
look  at  life  in  a  new  light ;  and  I  have  in  some  way  gath- 
ered strength  to  face  a  future  that  I  would  sooner  have 
killed  myself  than  to  have  met  three  months  ago,  when 
people  called  me  a  good  man.  What  is  it,  dear,  what  is  it 
that  works  such  miracles  within  us,  even  in  all  the  bitterness 
of  sorrow  and  remorse?  " 

"You  hold  the  answer  in  your  own  heart,"  was  Katha- 
rine's low  reply. 

It  always  seemed  to  them  both,  afterwards,  as  if  years 
had  been  condensed  into  that  one  night.  The  precious 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  2O/ 

moments  were  not  wasted  in  tears  or  vain  regrets  or  dark 
forebodings.  They  reviewed  together  the  whole  past  month, 
and  Colonel  Allston  gave  his  wife  an  exact  statement  of  his 
business  affairs  and  an  account  of  his  interview  with  Mr. 
Giddings. 

"  He  is  very  ill,"  said  Katharine.  "Dr.  Briggs  is  attend- 
ing him ;  but  I  '11  get  papa  to  find  out  what  they  need,  and 
I  '11  ask  Elsie  Vandyne  to  go  to  them." 

"  What  will  you  do  with  the  place  where  we  hoped  to 
have  our  home?  You  know  the  cellar  was  begun.  You 
will  not  want  that  left,  with  its  tormenting  suggestions  of 
what  might  have  been,"  said  Robert  later. 

"  I  will  not  let  it  torment  me.  I  shall  have  the  cellar 
filled  in,  and  two  or  three  trees  planted  there.  What  shall 
they  be,  Robert  ?  " 

"  An  oak,  of  course,  and  an  elm  —  " 

"  And  a  '  bonny  birch-tree,'  "  interrupted  Katharine. 
"  Those  are  the  three  that  belong  together.  I  could  n't 
endure  to  have  any  one  build  there  now;  the  land  will 
only  gain  in  value,  and  I  can  leave  it  for  you  to  attend  to, 
can't  I?" 

"  You  are  already  beginning  to  look  beyond,  dear,  are  n't 
you?" 

"  We  are  both  going  to  make  the  beyond  a  part  of  our 
present.  We  shall  have  to  take  a  very  broad  grasp  of  life 
now,  you  know ;  and  now  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I,  too, 
have  learned  something  in  these  dark  days." 

"  Have  you  ?    Then  teach  it  to  me." 

"I  have  learned  that  there  is  something  higher  and 
better  than  happiness  —  " 

"You  dear  little  philosopher,  you  are  always  learning 
things  and  reconciling  contradictions.  I  can't  follow  your 
flights ;  I  should  be  quite  satisfied  with  happiness ; "  and 
the  smile  with  which  he  looked  down  upon  the  dear  head 


208  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

resting  against  his  breast  was  broken  by  a  sigh.  "  Will  you 
tell  me  what  you  have  found  that  is  better?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  can't  explain ;  but  I  mean  that  the  untroubled 
happiness  of  — well,  for  instance,  two  years  ago  when  I 
came  home  from  New  York,  and  was  happy  as  a  girl 
could  be  :  that  was  'way  down  in  the  valleys  of  life,  com- 
pared to  where  I  am  now,  even  knowing  what  is  before  us ; 
and  I  think  the  reason  is  that  I  have  found  the  place  for 
which  I  was  created,  —  the  place  in  your  life.  The  truth  is 
that  you,  just  you,  are  the  whole  world  to  me,  —  you  give 
me  a  completer  existence  ;  everything  has  a  deeper  mean- 
ing ;  all  thought  and  feeling  are  enlarged." 

Little  she  knew  how  precious  to  her  husband  was  this 
revelation  of  her  heart,  and  of  how  essential  he  was  to 
her. 

"  Happiness,  —  unconscious,  unthinking  happiness,"  — 
she  continued,  following  her  thought,  "  why,  it  is  n't  a  real 
state  of  being,  it 's  merely  a  result.  Now,  I  want  the  right 
state  of  real  existence.  This  happiness,  this  sunshine  of  life, 
may  come  or  go ;  it  is  outside  of  the  strong  ties  and  deeper 
issues.  You  felt  that  when  you  wanted  to  give  me  up, 
as  I  felt  it  when  I  wanted  to  become  your  wife.  You  may 
not  philosophize,  but  you  feel  it  all  the  same,  —  you  felt  it 
when  you  decided  to  have  no  trial.  This  same  belief  in 
something  better  than  happiness  has  influenced  you  all 
through." 

"  It  strikes  me  as  so  odd,  Katie,  how  a  woman  will  put 
into  words  a  great  many  things  that  a  man  feels,  and  perhaps 
acts  upon,  but  does  not  define  or  analyze.  I  see  what  you 
mean :  there  is  something  better  than  happiness,  and  we 
will  keep  our  faith  in  it.  But  when  you  said  that  I  was  all 
the  world  to  you,  I  expected  you  would  quote,  — 

" '  With  him  't  is  heaven  anywhere  ; 
Without  my  William,  hell.' » 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  2CX) 

"  Oh,  no  indeed  !  that  's  barbaric.  There  's  a  very  gen- 
uine ring  in  it,  but  possession  at  all  costs —  "  She  paused. 

Her  husband  finished  her  sentence  —  "  Is  at  the  bottom 
of  half  the  divorce-suits,  no  doubt.  That 's  the  sort  of 
wind  that  reaps  the  whirlwind.  No,  Katie,  that  is  n't  at  all 
like  you,"  he  continued,  drawing  her  closer;  "but  I  was 
thinking  last  night  how  you  are  living  out  the  very  tender- 
est  and  sweetest  love-lines  ever  written  ;  how  you  had  come 
out  from  your  own  sheltered  life  into  '  the  cauld  blast '  with 
me,  and  have  cast  over  me  a  mantle  far  wider  and  warmer 
than  any  Scotch  plaidie ;  and  I  know  you  will  keep  a 
glimpse  of  paradise  in  the  midst  of  our  desert." 

The  town-clock  near  by  struck  one. 

"  Oh,  Robert,  it  is  to-morrow  ! "  and  she  clung  to  him, 
trembling.  She  had  shut  out  the  thought  of  the  "  to-morrow," 
but  with  stealthy  steps  it  had  crept  on  beside  the  precious 
moments  of  their  wedding-day ;  and  now  it  claimed  them, 
and  threw  over  them  the  black  shadow  of  the  prison. 

Katharine  closed  her  eyes  to  shut  out  the  terrible  new 
day ;  and  then,  as  she  remembered  what  was  before  her 
husband,  she  persuaded  him  to  lie  down  on  the  cot-bed  in 
the  room  and  try  to  sleep. 

"  You  must  take  the  rest,  you  will  need  it ;  I  shall  sit 
beside  you  and  hold  your  hand,  and  it  will  be  a  comfort  to 
me  to  see  you  resting,"  she  insisted. 

And  later,  when  her  husband  had  fallen  asleep,  the  young 
wife  thought  of  the  day  before  them.  She  did  not  shrink 
from  it  now ;  she  faced  it  resolutely.  As  far  as  it  could  be 
anticipated,  she  went  through  it  all,  and  nerved  herself  to 
meet  it.  The  clock  struck  two  and  three,  unheeded.  As 
she  looked  at  her  husband,  sleeping  in  his  vigorous  young 
manhood,  her  heart  called  upon  all  the  powers  of  Heaven 
to  protect  and  strengthen  him  through  the  long  and  terrible 
ordeal  before  him.  She  too  began  to  feel  the  strain  of  the 


210  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

last  day  and  night.  In  her  weariness  she  leaned  her  head 
against  the  back  of  her  chair,  her  eyes  still  on  her  hus- 
band's face.  The  shadow  of  the  prison  became  indistinct. 

Her  thought  of  her  husband  grew  tender  as  a  mother's 
thought  of  her  boy.  Her  breath  came  gently  and  evenly ; 
the  lids  drooped  over  her  tired  eyes ;  the  curling  fringe  of 
her  eyelashes  lowered  until  they  found  a  resting-place.  The 
recent  lines  of  pain  and  sorrow  yielded  to  that  look  of  in- 
effable peace  which  sleep  so  often  brings. 

The  deputy-sheriff  softly  removed  his  boots  and  noise- 
lessly extinguished  the  lamp.  His  heart  had  grown  tender 
towards  the  two  under  his  surveillance ;  his  brain  had  not 
been  idle  as  he  sat  so  stiffly  on  guard.  He  was  a  Baptist 
in  good  and  regular  standing,  and  very  familiar  with  the 
story  of  Saint  Peter;  he  felt  better  acquainted  with  the 
impulsive,  inconsistent  old  saint  than  he  had  ever  become 
with  any  of  the  prisoners  under  his  care.  And  now,  in  the 
stillness  of  the  shadowy  gray  dawn  he  felt  tempted  to  act 
the  part  of  Saint  Peter's  angel,  to  open  the  door  and 
awaken  the  sleepers.  Had  not  the  blessed  Saint  Peter 
done  a  mean  and  cowardly  thing,  —  failed  his  best  Friend  in 
the  hour  of  need,  and  sealed  his  disloyalty  by  the  blackest 
of  lies  three  times  repeated?  And  yet  the  good  Lord 
forgave  him,  and  when  his  dark  hour  came,  sent  an  angel 
to  liberate  him.  Colonel  Allston  had  struck  an  enemy ; 
but  even  the  deputy-sheriff  felt  that  he  could  never  have 
denied  a  friend. 

Then,  shocked  at  his  own  laxity,  he  pulled  himself  up 
morally,  and  said  hastily  :  " '  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan  ! ' 
Of  course  it 's  wrong  to  make  a  comparison  when  one  was  a 
saint  and  the  other  only  a  common  man ;  "  and  the  temp- 
tation fled. 

Lake  Michigan  was  flooded  with  the  lovely  tints  of  a 
morning  in  June.  The  rising  sun  flashed  across  the  waters 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  211 

with  a  dazzling  glitter.  It  lighted  the  spires  of  the  churches 
and  the  tops  of  the  trees,  arousing  all  the  birds  to  take 
part  in  their  midsummer  chorus.  It  fell  upon  the  old 
court-house  in  the  square,  gilded  the  grating  of  the  outer 
windows,  spanned  the  corridor  within,  and  sent  its  rays 
through  the  bars  of  an  inner  room.  It  touched  the  ceiling 
and  crept  down  to  the  stolid  figure  on  guard  with  face 
stupid  from  fatigue ;  it  glided  over  to  the  sleeping  man, 
who  looked  far  more  the  soldier  than  the  convict,  although 
the  worn  face  bore  witness  to  the  tragedy  in  ineffaceable 
lines  of  sorrow  and  suffering ;  it  fell  upon  the  white  dress 
of  the  sleeping  bride,  crossed  the  rosy  palm  of  her  left 
hand,  and  lighted  the  gold  brown  hair  which  had  escaped 
from  its  fastenings  and  uncoiled  itself  over  her  shoulder 
and  across  her  blue  shawl. 

Her  face,  turned  towards  her  husband,  is  still  in  shadow. 
Her  sorrows  are  forgotten  now,  for  she  smiles  in  her  sleep. 
As  Robert  Allston  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  Katharine, 
he  forgot  himself  and  his  own  doom  ;  he  forgot  that  he  had 
killed  Irvington.  He  existed  only  in  the  rapture  of  his  love. 
His  heart  bounded  with  the  simple  joy  of  possession. 

She  was  his  own.  This  delicate,  lovely,  loving  girl  was 
his  own  dear  wife.  God  had  given  her  to  him  !  He 
wanted  to  remember  her  as  she  looked  now,  so  young,  so 
free  from  care,  and  smiling  in  her  sleep.  He  took  the 
picture  into  his  heart,  to  be  recalled  and  dwelt  upon  a 
thousand  times  in  the  future  separation.  In  her  sleep  she 
still  closely  clasps  his  right  hand;  he  scarcely  dares 
breathe  for  fear  of  arousing  her. 

But  there  comes  a  faint  flutter  of  the  fingers  against  his 
own;  the  smile  fades;  that  little  tremulous  sigh  tells  of 
returning  consciousness ;  and  then  the  hazel  eyes  are  un- 
curtained, and  are  looking  into  those  of  her  husband. 

They  have  entered  upon  their  to-morrow. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


A    PARTING. 

"  How  much,  preventing  God,  how  much  I  owe 
To  the  defences  thou  hast  round  me  set ! 
Example,  custom,  fear,  occasion  slow, 
These  scorned  bondsmen  were  my  parapet. 
I  dare  not  peep  above  this  parapet 
To  gauge  with  glance  the  roaring  gulf  below, 
The  depths  of  sin  to  which  I  had  descended, 
Had  not  these  me  against  myself  defended." 

R.  NATHAN  ELLIS,  warden  of  Waupun  prison, 
was  a  tall,  spare,  dark  man,  with  long  neck 
and  sloping  shoulders.  His  hair  was  straight 
and  black  as  an  Indian's ;  his  eyes,  also  black, 
were  remarkable  in  their  usual  expression  of  tranquillity, 
although  capable  of  flashing  sudden  keen  glances  of  scru- 
tiny or  fiery  sparks  of  anger.  The  eldest  child  of  a  strict 
Calvinist,  experimented  upon  morally  and  relentlessly,  as 
eldest  children  are  likely  to  be  by  young  and  confident 
parents,  the  self-contained  but  strong-willed  boy  developed 
inwardly,  after  the  manner  of  volcanoes,  until  of  an  age  to 
throw  off  parental  authority,  when  paternal  theology  was 
also  discarded,  with  the  suggestive  remark :  "  The  God 
whom  I  worship  must  move  within  the  circle  of  justice." 


A  PARTING.  213 

The  unsympathetic  atmosphere  surrounding  his  child- 
hood had  hardened  the  crust  of  reticence  of  one  who  was 
by  nature  a  solitary.  Mrs.  Ellis,  a  timid,  amiable  woman, 
never  felt  fairly  acquainted  with  her  husband,  and  some- 
times wondered  why  she  had  ever  married  him. 

Being  an  earnest  man  and  thoughtful,  life  and  expe- 
rience gradually  developed  in  Mr.  Ellis  a  religious  faith 
bordering  on  Unitarianism,  —  a  religious  hope,  rather,  for 
it  lacked  vitality  to  make  life  seem  anything  more  than  an 
experiment. 

When,  at  the  age  of  forty,  he  assumed  the  responsibilities 
of  the  position  of  warden  in  a  large  penitentiary,  he  inclined 
towards  broad  humanitarian  theories ;  and  the  first  fact 
which  he  was  forced  to  confront  was  the  necessity  of  deal- 
ing with  his  prisoners  as  a  class,  and  not  as  individuals. 
He  could  not  meet  them  man  to  man  and  do  what  was 
best  for  each  and  all.  He  was  placed  there  to  rule  over  a 
company  of  undisciplined  guards  and  a  mass  of  law-defy- 
ing, ignorant  humanity  who  were  smarting  under  a  sense  of 
powerlessness,  of  defeat,  or  of  injustice. 

Had  his  small  kingdom  been  an  absolute  monarchy,  he 
might  have  effected  radical  and  beneficial  changes ;  but  he 
was  limited  by  the  requirements  of  the  State,  of  contractors, 
and  of  prison  commissioners.  How  he  wearied  of  the  con- 
stantly reiterated  question :  "  How  does  the  prison  pay 
financially?  "  And  never  had  he  been  asked  :  "  How  does 
it  pay  morally  ?  " 

Before  he  had  been  in  the  prison  a  week,  Warden  Ellis 
overheard  an  under-officer  say  :  "  A  convict  has  no  rights ;  " 
and  another  remark  :  "  I  never  believe  a  word  that  a  con- 
vict says." 

Although  his  reason  revolted  against  punishment  regard- 
less of  its  effect  on  character,  yet  it  was  necessary  that  he 
should  draw  up  and  enforce  a  strict  code  of  penalties. 


214  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

While  respecting  the  sacredness  of  human  life,  even  to 
opposing  capital  punishment,  yet  he  must  sanction  the 
custom  of  firing  on  a  convict  if  it  was  the  only  means  of 
preventing  his  escape,  even  though  that  convict  might  be 
an  innocent  man  in  desperation  defying  the  laws  that  had 
violated  justice.  During  all  the  years  that  he  held  the 
position  of  warden,  his  right  hand  was  fighting  against  his 
left,  and  free-will  was  held  under  by  necessity ;  never  hav- 
ing reached  any  satisfactory  solution  of  the  intricate  prob- 
lem of  prison-discipline,  he  rarely  expressed  views  on  the 
subject.  While  he  endeavored  to  be  as  fair  in  his  judg- 
ment of  officers  and  guards  as  of  prisoners,  he  never  lost 
his  spontaneous,  chivalrous  sympathy  with  "  the  man  that 
was  down,"  although  this  sympathy  was  never  directly 
expressed. 

The  loth  of  June,  1866,  had  been  an  exceptionally  trying 
day  for  the  warden.  One  of  the  guards  had  been  attacked 
and  nearly  killed  by  a  prisoner.  A  slight  investigation  dis- 
closed the  fact  that  ill-feeling  had  existed  between  the  two 
men,  and  that,  taking  advantage  of  his  power,  the  guard 
had  exasperated  the  convict  beyond  endurance.  No  mar- 
gin for  the  play  of  human  nature  must  be  left  in  a  prison, 
and  the  warden  himself  had  ordered  the  convict  to  the 
"  Solitary,"  and  overheard  him  mutter,  "  I  don't  care ;  I 
had  the  satisfaction  of  knocking  him  down,"  —  a  satisfac- 
tion destined  to  bleach  before  the  assailant  came  out  of 
the  "Solitary." 

The  warden  returned  to  his  office  irritated  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  having  been  forced  by  his  position  to  act  con- 
trary to  his  innate  sense  of  fairness,  and  fully  aware  that  in 
the  convict's  place  he  should  probably  have  done  as  the 
convict  did. 

A  man  divided  against  himself  is  rarely  agreeable ;  but 
the  warden  seated  himself  at  his  desk  with  an  unmoved 


A   PARTING. 


215 


tranquillity  of  manner,  and  proceeded  to  read  the  letters 
deferred  since  morning.  He  frowned  slightly  over  one  of 
them,  then  rang  the  bell  and  issued  the  order,  — 

"  When  the  sheriff  from  Milwaukee  comes  with  his  party, 
have  them  shown  in  here.  The  train  is  due  now." 

However,  the  train  was  late.  Half  an  hour  passed  before 
the  office-door  was  thrown  open  and  the  sheriff  entered,  im- 
mediately introducing  an  elderly  gentleman,  Dr.  Kennard, 
of  Milwaukee. 

The  warden  shook  hands  with  the  Doctor,  then  glanced 
beyond  to  the  slender  lady  with  a  spirited,  pale  face, 
standing  beside  a  man  whose  handcuffs  marked  him  a 
prisoner. 

"  My  daughter,  Mrs.  Allston,"  said  the  Doctor  as  Kath- 
arine advanced. 

She  scanned  the  warden's  face  eagerly,  as  though  invol- 
untarily seeking  a  friend;  then  giving  him  her  hand,  she 
uttered  her  uppermost  thought  and  desire  in  a  tone  of 
imperative  entreaty, — 

"  You  will  be  good  to  my  husband  ?  I  must  leave  him 
with  you,  but  you  will  be  good  to  him?" 

The  warden  was  not  in  the  mood  to  pledge  himself  to 
anything,  nor  to  yield  to  any  feeling  of  sympathy.  He 
turned  from  the  imploring  face,  and  with  the  practised  eye 
of  one  accustomed  to  gauge  another  at  a  glance,  rapidly 
"  sized  up  "  Robert  Allston  ;  then  quietly  replied  :  — 

"  Your  husband  was  an  army  officer,  I  understand.  One 
who  has  commanded,  knows  the  necessity  of  obedience ;  and 
conforming  to  that  necessity,  your  husband  will  have  no 
trouble." 

The  warden  spoke  in  an  impersonal  manner,  but  there 
was  a  chilling  inflexibility  in  his  words  suggesting  the  iron 
bars;  and  the  very  nerves  of  Katharine's  heart  were  laid 
bare  to  feel  the  pressure  of  those  bars. 


2l6  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

"  Before  I  leave  Colonel  Allston,  I  wish  to  learn  some- 
thing of  the  rules  of  the  institution,"  she  said,  with  a  slight 
but  perceptible  recoil.  "How  often  may  we  write  to  each 
other?" 

"  You  can  write  to  him  as  often  as  you  like  ;  he  can  write 
to  you  once  a  month." 

"  Our  letters  will  all  be  read?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  How  often  shall  I  be  permitted  to  visit  him?" 

"Once  in  three  months." 

"  In  case  of  illness  will  you  let  me  know?  " 

"  You  will  be  informed  if  he  is  seriously  ill." 

"  Are  magazines  allowed  —  and  photographs  ?  "  She 
blushed  slightly. 

"  Certainly ;  we  do  not  cut  a  man  off  from  outside 
interests." 

"  I  believe  that  is  all.  Thank  you  ; "  and  Mrs.  Allston 
turned  to  her  husband,  who,  freed  now  from  his  handcuffs, 
was  waiting  to  bid  her  good-bye. 

"We  must  leave  for  our  train  in  five  minutes,  Kath- 
arine," said  her  father,  consulting  his  watch. 

As  the  three  elder  men  joined  in  conversation,  these 
last  moments  were  given  to  the  husband  and  wife  without 
interruption  or  direct  observation. 

The  released  hands  clasped  both  of  Katharine's  as  she 
said  :  "  I  can  write  to  you  every  day,  Robert,  —  that  is  better 
than  we  hoped.  I  shall  not  leave  you  to  live  wholly  inside 
this  prison;  you  will  see,  dear.  But  to  think  that  our 
letters  must  first  be  read  by  some  stranger !  That  is 
dreadful ! " 

"You  must  not  think  about  him  any  more  than  you 
think  about  the  pane  of  glass  through  which  the  light 
comes." 

"  I  '11  try  not  to.     To-morrow  I  will  send  you  my  photo- 


A   PARTING. 

graph,  —  the  one  taken  in  the  dress  I  wore  the  day  we 
were  engaged." 

"  Yes,  send  me  that  one ;  but,  Katie,  that  is  a  picture  of 
my  sweetheart,  and  I  want  one  of  my  wife.  Send  me  the 
old  one,  but  have  another  taken  for  me." 

"  I  will ;  but  I  am  afraid  —  yes,  you  shall  have  the  two. 
Your  wife  is  n't  Katharine  Kennard.  What  do  you  think 
of  the  warden  ?  "  she  continued  under  her  breath. 

"  The  warden  is  all  right ;  he  looks  like  a  just  man." 

"  Justice  is  so  cold  !  1  hoped  the  warden  would  be  like 
papa;  but  he  seems  hard,"  she  said  with  a  sigh. 

"That  may  be  in  consequence  of  his  having  a  hard 
place'to  fill.  You  need  not  fear  to  trust  me  with  the  prison 
authorities ;  I  want  you  to  feel  that.  And  remember  I  am 
not  a  sensitive  girl  like  you,  but  a  man  who  was  four  years 
a  soldier.  A  little  hard  common-sense  will  go  a  long  way 
towards  helping  one  through  a  prison  experience ; "  and 
his  quiet,  sensible  courage  had  a  reassuring  effect  upon  her. 

"  We  must  be  going,"  broke  in  the  voice  of  the  sheriff. 
"  Good-bye,  Colonel  Allston ;  I  '11  see  you  next  time  I 
come  up." 

The  Doctor  also  shook  hands  with  Robert,  and  stepped 
aside  to  wait  for  his  daughter. 

A  few  whispered  words,  a  clinging  embrace,  and  Kath- 
arine had  left  her  husband.  At  the  door  she  paused, 
she  turned,  she  tried  to  send  back  a  good-bye  smile  ;  but  it 
faded,  and  her  face  grew  white  and  rigid.  In  silence  she 
crossed  the  room  to  where  her  husband  sat ;  she  took  his 
face  between  her  hands  and  looked  into  his  eyes  as  if  she 
were  sending  her  very  soul  into  his  heart  to  stay  with  him. 
This  was  her  farewell.  Then  she  gently  pressed  on  his 
forehead  a  kiss  that  held  a  prayer,  and  without  a  word  she 
turned  and  left  the  room.  The  warden's  tranquil  eye  had 
missed  nothing. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

IN  THE  DEPTHS. 

"  I  am  one,  my  liege, 

Whom  the  vile  blows  and  buffets  of  the  world 
Have  so  incensed  that  1  am  reckless  what 
I  do  to  spite  the  world. " 

HE  earth  was  still  flooded  with  the  golden  light 
of  a  June  sunset ;  swallows  were  cleaving  the 
air  in  their  ecstatic  flight,  roses  were  shedding 
their  fragrance  abroad,  and  the  peaceful  beauty 
of  a  summer  evening  reigned,  extending  its  divine  and 
restful  influence  over  wearied  bodies  and  weary  hearts, 
soothing  tired  children  into  slumber,  and  wooing  tired 
fathers  and  mothers  into  forgetfulness  of  the  day's  cares  and 
burdens. 

But  this  beauty  of  earth  and  heaven  was  not  for  those 
in  prison.  Darkness  fell  early  over  the  cell-house,  and 
already  in  each  cell  a  lighted  candle  made  the  shadows 
visible.  As  Robert  Allston  in  his  convict-dress,  with  his 
head  shaven,  stepped  into  the  cell  assigned  him,  he  per- 
ceived that  it  held  another  occupant.  The  light  of  the 
candle  flashed  across  a  grim,  powerful  face,  seamed  with 
lines  of  passion  and  character ;  the  jaw,  in  its  set  and  de- 
termined expression,  suggested  a  framework  of  iron ;  the 
lips  were  thin,  and  the  mouth  indicated  mingled  scorn  and 


IN  THE  DEPTHS. 


219 


humor ;  the  eyes,  of  a  light-blue  gray,  were  at  once  alert 
and  guarded,  inquiring  and  suspicious ;  and  above  these 
eyes,  with  their  slightly  arched  eyebrows,  towered  a  high, 
well-rounded  forehead.  The  man  looked  about  sixty  years 
of  age  ;  but  prisoners  age  rapidly  in  appearance,  in  reality 
he  was  nearer  fifty. 

Coldly  scrutinizing  Allston  before  speaking,  the  man  said 
in  a  hoarse  half  whisper :  "  Mebbe  you  are  not  used  to 
such  close  quarters ;  you  look  as  if  you  might  be  a  green 
hand  at  prison  life.  If  it  seems  orkard  at  first ;  it  gets  to 
feel  more  natural  after  a  few  years." 

"  I  don't  see  how  a  man  can  live  without  more  air,"  said 
Allston. 

"  Sh-h-h  !  you  must  n't  speak  so  loud.  A  man  need  n't 
expect  to  live  in  here,  he  just  exists ;  but  I  never  heard  of 
any  one  having  died  of  suffocation  here.  Seeing  as  we 
have  to  dispense  with  the  ceremony  of  being  introduced, 
what  name  do  you  go  by?" 

"  My  name  is  Allston." 

"  So  you  are  Colonel  Allston  !  I  know  you ;  I  saw  in  a 
Milwaukee  paper  all  about  your  case.  For  killing  your 
man,  I  congratulate  you.  If  you  turn  prize-fighter  when 
you  get  out  of  here,  I  '11  bet  my  head  on  your  success." 
He  bestowed  a  patronizing  smile  on  the  younger  man, 
then  resumed  :  "  I  am  what  they  call  a  '  murderer '  too.  I 
took  a  man's  life,  —  and  good  reason  I  had  for  it !  Under 
the  same  circumstances  I  would  do  just  that  same  thing 
again."  His  thin  lips  closed  into  a  narrow  line,  and  a 
sharp,  wolfish  glitter  of  hatred  came  into  his  eyes.  "  That 
man's  deviltry  doomed  him  to  death,  and  me  to  a  living 
death.  I  'm  a  '  lifer.'  You  will  have  the  chance  of  settling 
another  score  if  you  have  any  more  to  settle ;  but  I  am  a 
fixture  '  till  death  shall  set  me  free,'  as  they  sing  in  chapel. 
Williams  is  my  name,  —  Richard  Williams." 


22O  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

Ignoring  with  an  inward  shudder  the  common  ground 
of  murderous  intent  thus  assumed  by  his  cell- mate,  Allston 
glanced  around. 

"  How  big  is  this  box,  any  way?  "  he  asked. 

"  Seven  feet  long,  seven  feet  high,  four  feet  wide,  two 
feet  taken  off  for  beds.  I  'm  six  feet  two  in  my  stockings, 
—  snug  fit  for  me,  whether  standing  or  in  bed.  But  after 
you  've  been  in  awhile  it  seems  bigger.  I  seem  to  have 
lost  the  recollection  of  how  space  feels." 

"  I  have  pitied  the  poor  beasts  in  cattle-cars  without  sup- 
posing I  should  ever  come  so  near  their  condition,"  said 
Allston. 

"  Oh  !  there  's  beasts  enough  in  here,  for  that  matter ; 
some  of  them  are  dangerous  fellows,  and  others  are  power- 
ful aggravating.  I  was  penned  in  with  one  devil,  and  again 
with  a  fool ;  and  which  was  the  worst,  I  never  concluded. 
The  last  one  that  was  in  here  I  made  it  so  hot  for  that  I 
have  been  left  alone  for  a  spell." 

"  I  should  think  it  would  be  easier  for  both  concerned 
to  be  civil,"  indifferently  replied  Allston. 

"  So  it  would ;  but  in  here,  if  the  men  have  sense,  they 
make  precious  little  show  of  it.  They  are  a  hard  lot,  — 
sneak-thieves  is  the  lowest;  for  self-respect  is  what  they 
have  n't  got.  They  're  mean  enough  to  steal  their  mother's 
false  teeth,  if  they  happen  to  be  set  on  a  gold  plate." 

It  was  not  from  any  desire  to  make  his  cell-mate  uneasy, 
but  with  the  view  of  being  entertaining,  that  Williams  re- 
sumed after  a  pause  :  "  Once  and  a  while  a  man  kills  his 
cell-mate ;  and  I  suppose  them  Christians  that  haunt  the 
churches  think  it  is  because  we  are  such  monsters  of  in- 
iquity. But  they  would  soon  learn  different  if  one  of  them 
was  penned  in  with  a  man  he  despised,  and  so  near  him 
that  he  couldn't  turn  around  without  touching  him,  nor 
look  up  without  seeing  him,  nor  perhaps  get  to  sleep  at 


IN  THE  DEPTHS.  221 

night  for  his  snoring.  It 's  my  belief  that  not  a  saint  out  of 
heaven  could  stand  it  without  getting  mad.  You  don't 
know  yourself  what  you  may  do  next  when  once  you  get 
mad." 

Observing  that  his  companion  was  occupied  with  his  own 
thoughts,  Williams,  who  felt  himself  enacting  the  rdle  of 
host,  changed  the  subject. 

"  You  look  kind  of  down  in  the  mouth,  Colonel.  One 
most  generally  feels  so  the  first  night.  If  you  want  to  turn 
in,  just  make  yourself  at  home  in  the  upper  bunk.  I  feel 
tired  myself  to-night,  and  as  if  I  could  sleep." 

Seeking  the  only  refuge  left  him,  —  silence  and  darkness, 
—  Allston  followed  this  suggestion,  and  ten  minutes  later 
the  light  was  extinguished. 

When  the  man  beneath  him  had  fallen  asleep,  Allston 
experienced  a  temporary  sense  of  relief;  but  he  could  not 
escape  the  echoes  of  that  hoarse,  whispering  voice  which 
claimed  him  as  a  fellow-murderer.  This  was  an  unim- 
agined  and  horrible  phase  of  prison  life.  What  loneliness 
could  equal  the  misery  of  this  enforced  companionship 
with  one  who  took  no  pains  to  conceal  his  murderous  and 
vindictive  spirit?  • 

It  was  in  vain  that  Robert  turned  to  the  thought  of 
his  wife  ;  that  hoarse  whisper  banished  the  tones  of  her 
voice,  and  the  look  of  her  eyes  was  intercepted  by  the 
sharp,  savage  gleam  of  the  eyes  of  his  cell-mate.  He  tried 
to  live  over  again  those  hours  spent  with  Katharine  the 
night  before  ;  but  they  were  dim  and  distant  as  the  happy 
scenes  of  earthly  life  to  a  soul  in  purgatory.  When  at 
last  sleep  came,  it  was  troubled  and  broken,  and  without 
rest. 

The  next  day  Allston  marched  with  the  gang,  joining  in 
the  lock-step,  —  that  carefully  preserved  relic  of  barbarism, 
—  and  began  work  in  the  shoe-shop. 


222  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

All  through  the  morning  until  the  hour  of  dinner,  then 
all  through  the  afternoon,  the  men  worked  on  like  lifeless 
machines.  Not  an  involuntary  sound,  not  the  drawing  of 
a  long  breath,  the  straightening  of  a  bent  back,  or  the  ex- 
panding of  a  contracted  chest;  no  whistle  "whistled  itself" 
through  the  lips  of  any  vigorous,  fun-loving  young  man. 
Youth,  individuality,  human  nature  itself,  seemed  to  have 
been  eliminated,  and  some  malignant  charm  cast  over 
them.  Beside  Allston  worked  a  pale,  hollow-chested  boy, 
with  a  hacking  cough  and  a  weary,  listless  expression. 
Involuntarily  Allston  gave  him  a  sympathetic  glance,  but 
was  called  to  order.  No  spring  of  human  kindness  was 
allowed  to  flow  unchecked. 

When  the  busy,  silent  day  had  passed,  and  physical 
weariness  had  quieted  Allston's  nerves,  he  was  not  so 
averse  to  listening  to  his  cell-mate  as  he  had  been  the 
night  before,  nor  did  the  whisper  grate  so  harshly.  He 
pitied  the  gaunt,  grim  savage  imprisoned  for  life,  as  one 
pities  a  caged  tiger,  even  while  knowing  how  dangerous  it 
would  be  to  release  him. 

In  reply  to  some  general  inquiry  regarding  his  history, 
Williams,  glad  of  a  listener,  launched  forth,  wrinkling  his 
brow  as  he  peered  back  to  his  early  years,  which  he  dis- 
posed of  briefly :  — 

"  I  never  had  any  mother,  father,  sister,  or  brother,  nor 
any  childhood ;  and  for  forty  years  never  had  any  friend  — 
with  two  exceptions  —  who  did  not  prove  an  enemy. 
Mother  died  soon  after  my  birth ;  father  went  West,  and  I 
never  seen  him  that  I  know  of.  I  was  a  bound  boy ;  and 
you  know  how  a  bound  boy  is  treated.  Williams,  the  man 
I  was  bound  to,  and  whose  name  I  took,  thought  beating 
all  the  counsel  that  a  boy  needed ;  and  he  beat  me  until 
I  lost  respect  for  him  and  for  myself  too.  His  wife  was 
kind  to  me,  but  she  was  sickly,  and  could  not  teach  me  as 


IN  THE  DEPTHS. 


223 


she  would  of  done  had  her  health  been  good.     She  died 
before  I  was  twelve  years  old. 

"  As  I  grew  up,  things  went  worse  between  Williams  and 
me ;  and  at  last  we  had  a  big  row,  and  I  ran  away.  That 
turned  his  spite  against  me ;  and  when  I  came  back,  sev- 
eral years  after,  he  heard  I  was  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
accused  me  of  being  revengeful  and  treacherous,  and  tried  to 
injure  me  in  all  manner  of  ways.  Finally  he  got  me  arrested 
for  robbery  that  I  never  committed ;  and  though  I  proved 
an  alibi,  I  was  convicted  and  sentenced  seven  years. 

"All  the  time  I  was  shut  up  in  prison  I  planned  and 
plotted  revenge ;  but  when  I  got  out  in  the  free  air  of 
heaven,  somehow  I  felt  different.  I  seemed  to  want  to  get 
away  from  men ;  and  I  got  away.  I  only  went  to  see  the 
girl  that  I  had  been  engaged  to  once,  and  kissed  her  two 
little  girls,  —  their  mother  was  a  good  woman ;  and  then  I 
went  off  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  turned  hunter  and 
trapper.  Bears  and  panthers  and  redskins  were  my  com- 
panions, and  they  were  not  the  kind  of  teachers  to  acquire 
book-knowledge  of;  but  it  was  while  I  was  there  that  I 
picked  up  what  little  book-knowledge  I  am  possessed  of, 
through  some  rascally  Christian  fur-dealers  who  cheated  me 
as  far  as  money  went,  but  I  gained  something  from  them. 

"  What  caused  me  to  despise  religion  ?  Liars.  The  few 
Christians  I  knew  all  lied.  But  I  did  have  one  true  friend, 
I  did  know  one  good  woman,  —  Violetta,  my  wife,  who 
never  had  a  superior.  When  she  heard  of  my  sentence  it 
killed  her ;  she  lived  only  a  short  time  afterwards.  I  tell 
you,  Colonel,  the  prison  came  hard  on  me,  —  harder  than 
it  does  on  most  of  them.  You  see  for  so  many  years  I  had 
lived  a  roaming  life,  always  in  the  fresh  air,  even  sleeping 
out  of  doors  half  the  time ;  and  I  loved  the  trees  and  the 
mountains  more  than  I  ever  loved  humans.  Mountains 
don't  rile  you  up  as  men  do,  they  make  you  feel  good 


224  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

and  peaceable.  I  never  would  harm  any  one  if  I  could  go 
off  and  be  let  alone.  I  only  want  to  be  left  to  myself. 
But  many  and  many's  the  time  I  have  wished  I  could 
change  places  with  the  man  I  'd  killed,  —  not  just  in  order 
to  give  him  a  taste  of  this,  but  for  my  own  sake.  When  I 
first  came  here,  before  I  got  used  to  it,  I  felt  that  desper- 
ate that  day  after  day  I  would  plan  to  kill  myself;  that 
seemed  to  be  my  only  comfort,  —  thinking  how  I  could  end 
my  life ;  and  I  don't  know  why  I  did  n't  do  it.  I  Ve  got 
nothing  to  live  for." 

The  suspicious  look  in  the  light  eyes  gave  way  to  a 
dreamy  melancholy,  and  the  hard  lines  of  the  face  relaxed 
into  an  expression  of  unutterable  longing. 

"  Perhaps  you  think  I  've  got  nothing  to  die  for  either," 
he  resumed  slowly ;  "  but  there  you  are  mistaken.  I  have 
got  something  to  die  for ;  I  have  got  Violetta.  She  is 
waiting  for  me  somewhere,  and  ready  to  share  my  fate, 
whatever  it  may  be,  in  the  next  world ;  I  have  never  lost 
my  assurance  of  that.  But  I  have  gave  up  the  idea  of 
taking  my  life.  I  think  it 's  a  cowardly  act ;  and  I  mean 
to  stand  what  misery  's  before  me.  And  I  tell  you  what, 
Colonel,"  leaning  over  and  speaking  confidentially,  "  some 
way  a  man  never  quite  gives  up  the  hope  of  getting  par- 
doned out  of  prison ;  and  I  'd  like  to  see  them  mountains 
and  trees  once  more,  and  to  die  with  heaven's  blue  sky 
bending  over  me." 

Allston  was  destined  to  find  many  surprises  in  this  crude, 
savage,  intense,  and  poetical  nature.  Its  intensity  wearied 
him,  its  pathos  touched  him.  It  was  unaccountable  how 
this  waif,  reared  in  brutality  and  cruelty  into  hatred  of  his 
race,  had  yet  developed  this  vein  of  tenderness  towards 
Violetta,  and  faith  in  her  eternal  constancy  and  devotion. 
He  appeared  to  have  no  shadow  of  remorse  for  the  murder 
which  he  had  committed. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

THE   PHOTOGRAPH. 

"  O  faint,  delicious  spring-time  violet, 
Thine  odor,  like  a  key, 
Turns  noiselessly  in  Memory's  wards.' 


|IRED  in  body,  oppressed  with  the  heavy  weight 
of  prison  life  so  soon  felt  by  every  prisoner,  the 
following  evening  Allston  found  the  stifling  air 
of  his  cell  almost  intolerable ;  but  all  sense  of 
discomfort  was  lost  when  the  guard  who  distributed  the 
mail  handed  him  a  letter.  Like  a  white  dove  out  of 
heaven  came  this  letter  from  Katharine. 

At  sight  of  the  familiar  handwriting,  characteristic  of  the 
writer  in  its  firmness  and  delicacy,  Allston's  heart  gave  a 
bound  of  joy ;  the  breath  of  violet  released  as  he  unfolded 
the  pages  seemed  to  bring  him  into  the  very  atmosphere  of 
her  presence. 

The  grim  old  cell-mate  looked  on  curiously,  with  a  pang 
half  of  envy,  half  of  sympathy.  He  watched  the  flush  of 
pleasure  overspreading  the  younger  man's  face,  and  the 
light  of  affection  that  intensified  as  he  read ;  and  he  knew 
that  the  prison  and  its  inmates  were  blotted  from  remem- 
brance. He  knew  that  a  letter  like  that,  coming  with  its 
loving  message  to  a  lonely  heart,  was  precious  beyond  any- 

'5 


226  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

thing  else  the  world  could  give.  Had  he  not  two  letters, 
worn  and  soiled  with  many  readings,  blurred  with  kisses 
from  trembling  lips,  kept  sacredly  as  beyond  all  price,  — 
the  two  letters  written  him  by  the  wife  so  long  dead  ? 

Williams  snuffed  the  candle  with  his  fingers  and  moved 
it  nearer  his  companion ;  then  folded  his  arms  and  settled 
back  into  the  shadow.  Unregardful  of  this  slight  service, 
Allston  read  the  letter  through  once,  eagerly  drinking  of 
this  fountain  of  affection  ;  then  a  second  time  more  slowly, 
lingering  over  every  line.  He  could  almost  hear  Katharine 
speaking  as  he  read  :  — 

MY  DEAREST,  —  Do  you  know  you  do  not  seem  so  far 
away  ?  I  constantly  see  your  face  and  hear  your  voice  and 
seem  to  feel  your  love  surrounding  me.  How  hard  it  was  to 
say  "  Good-bye  ! "  I  thought  my  heart  would  break.  But 
separation  cannot  divide  us,  and  I  am  so  thankful,  oh  !  so 
thankful  that  I  am  your  wife.  You  will  always  remember 
that,  dear,  won't  you,  and  let  it  be  a  consolation  to  you  ? 

Mr.  Dempster  called  this  morning  and  had  a  little  business 
talk  with  me,  and  asked  me  to  tell  you  that  he  had  arranged 
the  matter  with  Mr.  Giddings  as  you  desired,  and  that  Mr. 
Giddings  has  withdrawn  the  suit,  —  perhaps  I  have  not  stated 
that  correctly;  but  you  will  know  what  I  mean. 

Papa  says  Mr.  Giddings  is  in  a  dangerous  condition.  Elsie 
has  been  over  to  see  his  wife.  What  an  angel  she  is  !  —  Elsie, 
I  mean.  She  came  to  ask  after  you  and  me  this  morning,  and 
she  was  so  gentle  and  lovely  ;  but  she  only  stayed  about  five 
minutes.  She  told  me  that  I  must  not  let  myself  look  back- 
ward now,  but  must  try  to  realize  that  each  day  was  bringing 
our  reunion  nearer. 

I  am  writing  out  on  the  porch  in  my  favorite  corner  that 
you  know  so  well,  and  the  lake  is  "deeply,  darkly,  beautifully 
blue,"  and  all  alive  with  motion.  It  is  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
forenoon,  and  I  have  on  my  pink  cambric  dress.  (I  will  con- 
fess to  you  that  I  put  it  on  because  I  did  not  want  mamma  to 
notice  how  pale  I  was.)  Do  you  remember  the  May  morning 


THE  PHOTOGRAPH.  22? 

when  you  found  me  sitting  here  in  this  same  dress,  and  then 
you  went  to  our  one  apple-tree  and  gathered  that  great  cluster 
of  apple-blossoms  for  me  to  wear  ?  Oh,  how  everything  that 
I  am  and  wear  and  own  has  become  associated  with  you !  I 
have  not  yet  had  courage  to  open  any  of  the  books  we  have 
read  together.  What  if  I  had  had  to  give  you  up  ?  I  should 
have  died. 

I  can't  tell  you  how  I  long  to  hear  from  you.  If  I  could 
only  have  one  line  it  would  be  such  a  comfort.  For  the 
present  I  am  going  to  write  to  you  every  day  ;  for  with  all  my 
pretended  courage  there  's  an  ache  down  deep  in  my  heart,  — 
such  an  ache  for  you  in  that  dreadful  prison  !  If  I  could  only 
divide  your  sentence  and  bear  half  of  it  —  Dear  me  !  how 
happy  I  should  be  if  I  could  only  do  that ! 

I  am  going  to  write  down  all  about  our  wedding,  and  every- 
thing you  said  to  me  that  evening  and  night.  I  think  I  can 
remember  it  all  now. 

I  send  you  the  one  photograph.  It  does  not  seem  to  look 
as  much  like  me  as  it  did ;  but  I  knew  so  little  of  love  or  of 
life  a  year  ago. 

How  can  I  say  "  good-bye  "  ?     I  want  to  go  on  writing  all 
day,  but  I  should  never  come  to  a  time  when  I  was  ready  for 
the  good-bye,  any  more  than  I  shall  ever  cease  to  be 
Your  loving  wife, 

KATHARINE. 

The  restlessness  and  nervousness  of  the  writer  were  evi- 
dent. How  her  husband  longed  to  see  her  !  and  yet  she 
seemed  immeasurably  nearer  since  the  letter  came.  How 
like  her  it  was  to  seek  to  counteract  her  paleness  by 
wearing  that  pink  cambric,  with  its  distracting  rows  of 
embroidered  ruffles  bordering  the  skirt ! 

He  took  up  her  picture.  Yes,  it  was  his  own  Katie. 
She  had  not  altered  as  much  as  she  thought.  Circum- 
stances and  experience  had  developed,  not  changed  her. 
In  the  untroubled  girlish  face  he  could  plainly  read  the 
character  of  his  wife. 


228  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

Allston  was  startled  from  his  observation  by  the  hoarse 
whisper  of  Williams,  — 

"  Are  you  going  to  keep  on  gazing  at  that  picture  all 
night  ?  Is  it  your  girl  you  are  looking  at  as  though  you  'd 
like  to  eat  her  ?  And  would  you  object  to  letting  me  take 
a  look  at  her?  I  call  myself  a  pretty  good  judge  of  the 
female  countenance." 

Not  their  common  humanity,  not  the  desolation  of  this 
other  blasted  life,  came  uppermost  in  Allston's  mind.  His 
very  tenderness  towards  Katharine  hardened  and  separated 
him  from  his  cell-mate. 

To  give  the  photograph  of  his  wife  in  all  the  sacredness 
of  her  pure  girlhood  into  the  hands  of  this  rough  old  convict 
seemed  sacrilege.  He  continued  looking  at  the  picture  as 
though  he  had  not  heard  the  request ;  but  something  in  the 
sweet  face  reproached  him,  until,  feeling  that  the  living  face 
would  not  have  turned  from  the  old  man,  without  a  word  he 
handed  him  the  photograph. 

Williams  took  it,  and  holding  it  carefully  by  the  edges,  he 
looked  down  on  it  half  humorously,  then  with  evident  inter- 
est ;  then  he  smiled,  and  his  rugged  face  grew  gentle. 

"  It  ain't  common  clay  that  she 's  made  of,  but  some 
kind  of  double-refined  chiny.  She  's  a  high-stepper,  I  '11 
bet,  and  likely  a  little  frisky  on  occasion ;  but  it 's  a  mighty 
sweet  and  loving  eye  she 's  got.  Is  she  going  to  wait  for 
you,  poor  young  thing  ? "  and  he  returned  the  photograph. 

"  That  is  a  picture  of  my  wife." 

"  Your  wife  ?  Well,  I  'm  dumbed  !  "  And  evidently  he 
was,  for  not  another  question  did  he  ask  that  evening. 

Williams  had  received  a  shock.  He  had  taken  a  violent 
fancy  to  his  young  cell-mate,  whom  he  already  invested 
with  heroic  qualities,  first  among  which  he  placed  alle- 
giance to  woman.  From  the  newspaper  accounts  of  the 
tragedy  he  inferred  that  a  young  lady  was  the  real  cause  of 


THE  PHOTOGRAPH.  2 29 

the  trouble  ;  and  now  it  transpired  that  Allston  was  a  married 
man  all  this  time. 

With  the  life-long  habit  of  believing  evil  more  readily 
than  good,  Williams  at  once  removed  Allston  from  his  ped- 
estal and  consigned  him  to  the  regular  ranks  of  "  rascally 
Christians."  But  when  another  evening  and  another  letter 
came,  curiosity  grew  rampant,  and  Williams  ventured  to 
ask, — 

"  How  long  have  you  been  married  ?  " 

"  Four  days,"  was  the  surprising  reply. 

"  Oh,  you  married  her  after  you  was  sentenced  !  I 
wouldn't  of  done  that,  I  don't  believe.  I  would  of  left 
the  girl  a  chance  of  freedom.  I  took  you  for  a  differ- 
ent species.  But  human  nature  's  a  confounded  puzzle, 
anyhow." 

Allston  scarcely  knew  how  to  parry  this  thrust.  He  was 
conscious  of  a  desire  to  retain  the  respect  of  this  sincere  and 
courageous  old  sinner  with  whom  his  own  life  was  brought 
into  such  close  contact,  and  he  gave  Williams  the  reasons 
which  had  actuated  him. 

The  interest  and  sympathy  of  the  older  man  were  un- 
disguised, and  resulted  in  his  final  approval  of  the  course 
pursued.  Each  man  instinctively  relied  upon  a  sense  of 
honor  in  the  other.  Honor  among  murderers  is  less  in- 
consistent than  honor  among  thieves. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 


A   SHARP   CONTRAST. 

"  We  looked  to  hold  the  sweetness  of  our  love,  — 
Yea,  if  earth  failed  beneath  our  feet ;  and  now 
How  is  the  sweet  turned  bitter  !  " 

IATHARINE  ALLSTON  continued  to  write  to 

her  husband  daily ;  but  each  letter  betrayed  the 
same  restless,  consuming  desire  to  be  with  him. 
Finally  it  came  time  for  Robert  to  write  in  re- 
ply; and  his  compact,  erect  handwriting  condensed  a  long 
letter  upon  the  two  pages  of  foolscap  which  was  the  limit 
allowed  a  prisoner.  He  referred  to  his  loneliness  only  in 
telling  his  wife  how  cheering  and  precious  her  letters  were. 
He  alluded  to  the  hardships  of  prison  life  only  in  connec- 
tion with  those  who  had  no  friends,  no  hopes,  no  resources 
within  themselves ;  that  in  knowing  how  much  worse  off 
others  were  than  he,  his  lot  might  seem  less  hard  to  her  by 
contrast.  He  included  a  graphic  sketch  of  his  cell-mate, 
throwing  in  only  enough  shadow  to  bring  out  the  lights  in 
his  character.  He  wished  to  enlist  her  sympathy  for  an- 
other, realizing  as  he  did  through  her  letters  how  her  young 
life  was  narrowing  down  to  one  thought,  one  sympathy,  one 
desire.  And  then  into  her  yearning  heart  he  poured  the 
fullest  measure  of  affection. 


A   SHARP  CONTRAST.  231 

That  the  cheerful  courage  of  the  letter  acted  as  an  in- 
vigorating tonic  upon  his  wife,  was  evident  in  her  first 
reply. 

"  Why,  I  felt  as  if  you  had  come  in  and  taken  me  by  the 
hand  and  lifted  me  up,"  she  wrote  ;  but  if  he  had  thought  to 
interest  her  in  others,  he  was  mistaken.  She  wrote  page 
after  page  overflowing  with  tenderness  and  with  something 
of  her  natural  cheerfulness ;  but  her  husband  was  her  one 
and  only  thought,  until  just  at  the  close  she  added :  "  You 
seem  so  much  interested  in  that  Mr.  Williams  that  if  you 
like  you  can  give  him  my  regards.  I  am  thankful  that  you 
have  not  a  worse  man  with  you."  She  resorted  to  every 
device  to  span  the  separation,  and  in  her  next  letter  she 
wrote  :  — 

I've  been  playing  for  you  this  evening,  dear,  —  couldn't 
you  hear  the  music  ?  —  that  tender  Schumann  Romanze  that 
lingers  and  dies  away  at  last  into  a  mere  breath  of  sound. 
I  remember  the  last  time  I  played  it  for  you,  you  asked  me 
how  ever  I  learned  to  make  the  piano  whisper :  and  did  you 
catch  the  whisper  to-night  ?  This  afternoon  I  took  up  "  Great 
Expectations"  where  we  left  off  reading  together;  and  the 
Dickensy  sentences  recalled  with  vividness  the  tones  in  which 
I  had  last  heard  them.  You  can  get  the  book  out  of  the  library, 
and  next  Monday  evening  we  can  each  begin  at  page  112, 
and  read  twenty-five  pages  every  evening  until  we  finish  it. 
And  we  will  go  on  reading  the  same  books,  and  that  will  help  us 
to  think  the  same  thoughts.  Only  five  weeks  now  until  I  see 
you  !  I  count  the  hours  and  try  to  realize  that  each  one  as  it 
passes  brings  our  meeting  nearer. 

I  wanted  you  so  last  evening!  I  went  over  to  spend  a  few 
moments  with  Dora,  and  while  I  was  there  a  Miss  Morse, 
whom  I  had  never  seen,  called.  She  was  a  slight,  pale,  au- 
burn-haired girl,  with  deep-set  eyes  of  the  gray  that  changes 
color  with  changing  emotion.  Dora  told  her  of  my  love  of 
music,  and  asked  her  to  sing  for  me.  She  consented  with 


232  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

some  reluctance,  for  she  seemed  very  shy ;  but.  when  she 
began  her  first  song  I  was  simply  spell-bound.  It  was  n't  the 
tone  of  her  voice  so  much  as  its  intense  dramatic  quality. 

"  Napoleitaine,  I  am  dreaming  of  Thee,"  an  impassioned 
love-song  of  separation  and  longing,  rose  and  soared  through 
the  room;  and  it  seemed  as  if  I  had  never  realized  how  I  long 
for  you  until  this  young  girl's  voice  expressed  the  feeling. 

In  the  perfect  hush  of  the  room  the  girl  sang  on,  song  after 
song;  the  light  in  her  face  glowing  and  deepening  as  if  fed  by 
some  inner  fire.  Suddenly  she  ceased  singing,  the  light  faded 
from  her  face,  she  spoke  a  few  low  words  to  Dora,  bowed  to 
me,  and  went  away.  Miss  Morse  is  a  stranger  in  town  who 
has  begun  lessons  with  Dora.  Her  singing  has  been  with  me 
all  day.  "  Dreaming  of  Thee," — oh,  what  is  my  life  but  dream- 
ing of  thee ! 

Ever  your  own 

KATHARINE. 

Each  succeeding  letter  revealed  again  the  ever-deepening 
longing ;  plainly  she  lived  only  in  anticipation  of  seeing  her 
husband,  oblivious  to  any  claim  that  the  present  might  have 
upon  her. 

But  the  lingering  hours  dropped  steadily  into  the  past, 
and  brought  at  last  the  day  when  Katharine  was  to  visit  her 
husband.  She  was  in  a  state  of  almost  uncontrollable  ex- 
citement when,  with  her  father,  she  arrived  at  the  prison 
and  was  ushered  into  a  small,  bare  reception-office.  Kath- 
arine did  not  see  the  other  woman,  the  little  German 
woman  in  shabby  mourning,  with  pale,  frightened,  tearful 
face,  who  was  waiting  to  see  her  son.  She  did  not  notice 
the  two  or  three  men  in  convict  dress  who  were  within 
range  of  her  vision ;  they  were  nothing  to  her,  she  was 
waiting  to  see  Robert,  —  Robert  as  she  had  bidden  him 
good-bye,  her  husband,  the  man  of  soldierly -bearing,  with 
an  air  of  command. 

Dr.  Kennard  had  not  prepared  her ;  it  had  not  occurred 


A  SHARP  CONTRAST.  233 

to  him  that  she,  usually  so  quick  to  imagine  and  adjust, 
had  not  thought  of  her  husband  in  his  prison  suit.  But  it 
was  characteristic  of  Katharine  to  have  been  occupied 
with  the  thought  of  her  husband's  heart  and  mind  and  soul, 
to  the  exclusion  of  every  other  idea.  Degradation  in  any 
sense  had  not  for  a  moment  associated  itself  with  him  in 
her  mind.  As  she  sat  with  flushed  cheeks,  and  eyes  spark- 
ling with  anticipation,  she  did  not  observe  the  approach  of 
one  of  those  men  in  the  black  and  white  clothes  until  he 
stood  close  beside  her  and  touched  her.  She  looked  up 
startled,  surprised,  blank ;  and  then,  as  in  that  shaven  con- 
vict she  recognized  her  husband,  a  low  cry  of  horror  es- 
caped her,  the  world  turned  black,  and  she  fainted. 

It  was  her  father  who  caught  her  in  his  arms.  Robert 
stood  shocked  and  irresolute,  not  daring  to  touch  her,  not 
knowing  if  he  had  better  leave  her.  While  restoratives 
were  being  applied,  the  tears  of  the  little  German  woman 
flowed  afresh  ;  she  comprehended  the  scene  with  the  quick 
sympathy  of  a  woman  who  had  suffered. 

Mr.  Maclntyre,  an  old  Scotchman  who  filled  the  position 
of  usher  in  the  prison,  and  was  versed  in  its  tragic  relations 
with  the  world  outside,  approached  Robert  and  said  in  a 
low  tone,  — 

"  Just  sit  down  here  until  she  is  herself  again.  You  must 
not  leave  her  under  the  shock  of  this  first  impression. 
Your  familiar  voice  will  help  her." 

"  Thank  you  !  "  replied  Robert  gratefully. 

In  a  moment  her  eyes  unclosed,  and  she  asked  faintly, 
"Where  is  Robert?" 

"  I  am  here,  Katharine,"  he  said,  approaching  her.  "  I 
ought  to  have  prepared  you  for  this  change  ;  but  I  thought 
you  would  expect  it." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  !  You  know  how  much  I  have  wanted 
to  see  you,"  she  replied  nervously.  "The  heat  and  the 


234  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

journey  must  have  made  me  faint,"  she  continued,  in  her 
instinctive  desire  to  shield  him  from  a  knowledge  of  the 
truth. 

With  an  effort  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face,  but 
dropped  them  instantly,  compressing  her  lips;  she  dared 
not  risk  what  she  feared  he  might  read  in  her  eyes,  —  a 
sudden  unconquerable  revulsion  of  feeling  that  was  almost 
aversion.  With  swift,  incisive  force  her  mother's  words, 
"  the  wife  of  a  convict"  had  come  back  to  her. 

She  nerved  herself  to  speak,  warding  off  any  possible  in- 
vasion of  silence ;  but  her  averted  eyes  were  their  own  inter- 
preter. Her  husband  understood  her  with  perfect  intuition, 
but  took  care  not  to  betray  this  comprehension. 

Knowing  how  the  strain  of  emotion  is  often  best  relieved 
by  reference  to  external  affairs,  Dr.  Kennard  came  to  the 
rescue  with  the  items  of  business  and  social  news  in  Mil- 
waukee which  might  be  of  interest  to  his  son-in-law.  He 
told  of  the  termination  of  Mr.  Giddings's  feeble  career; 
how  the  broken-down  man  had  weathered  the  acute  attack 
of  pneumonia  only  to  fall  into  a  rapid  decline,  which  had 
ended  in  death  the  day  before ;  and  what  character  and 
efficiency  Mrs.  Giddings  had  displayed  through  all  the 
trying  experience. 

When  Robert,  listening  to  the  Doctor,  felt  that  Kath- 
arine's eyes  were  turned  towards  him  he  made  no  effort 
to  meet  them,  but  left  her  unobserved;  and  she,  not- 
ing what  was  familiar  rather  than  the  changes,  gradually 
emerged  from  the  shock,  recovered  self-control,  and  gained 
courage  to  call  her  husband's  attention  to  herself.  She 
encountered  his  eyes  without  shrinking,  although  with  a 
reserve  in  expression  that  was  unnatural. 

But  all  this  had  consumed  time ;  and  then,  when  the 
constraint  between  the  two  was  beginning  to  yield  a  little, 
then  Allston  received  the  uncompromising  announce- 


A   SHARP  CONTRAST. 


235 


ment,  "Time's  up!"  The  long-expected  half-hour  had 
come  and  gone.  As  they  exchanged  their  brief  and  sad 
farewell  the  two  realized  what  a  bitter  and  cruel  disap- 
pointment this  visit  had  been.  They  had  gathered  the 
harvest  of  three  months'  waiting,  and  it  proved  but  a 
handful  of  thorns. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

A  SILENT  STORM. 

"  Love  is  the  only  key  of  knowledge,  as  of  art ; 
Nothing  is  truly  ours  but  what  we  learn  by  heart." 

IATHARINE  had  rallied  from  the  first  shock  of 
the  tragedy  and  passed  through  the  excitement 
of  her  marriage  and  the  pang  of  parting  with 
her  husband  with  a  strength  of  endurance  that 
surprised  her  friends.  During  the  three  months'  interval 
of  separation  her  superficial  cheerfulness  seemed  to  her 
mother  unnatural,  and  almost  unwomanly,  as  if  indicating  a 
lack  of  the  ideal  devotion  and  depth  of  feeling  which  alone 
could  excuse  the  marriage. 

Unnatural  this  cheerfulness  was,  for  all  this  time  the 
young  wife  was  bearing  an  intense  strain  which  must  have 
transpired  sooner  or  later ;  and  the  cheerfulness  itself  was 
but  the  glow  of  the  fever  of  longing  and  impatience  that 
was  consuming  her  powers  of  resistance. 

To  see  her  husband  again,  to  be  with  him,  to  grasp  for 
but  a  few  moments  the  bliss  which  she  had  been  forced  to 
resign,  —  it  was  this  desire  into  which  her  whole  being  had 
concentrated.  And  it  was  just  at  the  moment  when  her 
heart  opened  wide  to  receive  the  fruition  of  her  hopes  that 
her  union  with  convict  life  was  thrust  into  her  consciousness 


A   SILENT  STORM.  237 

and  broke  at  a  single  blow  the  overstrained  tension  of  heart 
and  nerves. 

She  had  come  to  see  her  husband,  and  in  his  place  she 
found  a  convict.  As  she  began  to  reconcile  the  two,  it  was 
only  to  understand  that  the  supreme  object  of  her  love  had 
undergone  this  terrible  transformation,  had  been  stripped 
of  the  dear,  familiar,  outward  presence  which  represented 
her  ideal  of  man,  of  lover,  and  of  husband.  This  lowering 
change,  enveloping  her  also  in  the  close  tie  which  united 
wife  to  husband,  created  a  blinding  sense  of  outrage. 

The  blow  which  fell  upon  her  when  Irvington  was  killed 
had  failed  to  crush  her ;  with  unwavering  firmness  she  had 
encountered  her  mother's  opposition ;  her  love  had  under- 
mined Robert  Allston's  convictions  and  changed  his  deter- 
mination :  but  the  decisive  battle  of  her  existence,  the 
battle  with  herself  and  her  self-imposed  destiny,  was  still 
before  her. 

Encased  in  an  armor  of  cold  gentleness  which  effectually 
repelled  all  intrusion,  she  entered  this  warfare  alone,  with 
an  aching  sense  of  desolation  inconceivable  heretofore. 

It  was  impossible  for  her  to  take  any  one  into  her  confi- 
dence now,  to  admit  to  mother  or  friend  that  she  could 
think  of  herself  only  as  the  wife  of  a  convict,  and  that  she 
found  no  escape  from  the  despair  into  which  she  had  fallen. 
She  felt  herself  enslaved,  and  never  lost  consciousness  of 
the  weight  of  her  chains.  Mechanically  she  went  through 
the  routine  of  her  daily  pursuits,  and  passively  she  accepted 
her  father's  frequent  invitations  to  drive ;  but  she  warded 
off  any  approach  to  expressions  of  sympathy  as  carefully  as 
she  veiled  her  face  from  the  unwelcome  sunshine.  Her 
piano  was  opened  every  morning,  but  the  silence  of  its 
keys  was  left  unbroken  ;  the  familiar  music  could  only  evoke 
the  ghost  of  vanished  happiness.  She  took  up  a  course  of 
history,  reading  aloud  to  her  mother  regularly,  although 


238  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

her  mind  failed  to  retain  a  single  page  of  what  she  read ; 
but  she  felt  that  something  must  be  done  to  fill  up  the 
hours  which  were  all  alike  dreary  and  vacant,  except  the 
hour  that  brought  the  trying  ordeal  of  each  day,  — the  hour 
in  which  she  wrote  to  her  husband. 

It  would  have  given  her  infinite  relief  had  she  opened 
her  heart  unreservedly  to  Robert ;  but  with  wasted  fortitude 
she  refrained,  and  making  desperate  efforts  to  write  letters 
that  seemed  natural,  she  took  refuge  in  "  news,"  with  the 
half  apology :  "  I  must  not  forget  that  there  is  a  world  out- 
side of  myself  in  which  you  are  interested." 

But  the  forced  letters  which  caused  her  such  effort  were 
more  miserable  failures  than  she  dreamed.  At  first  they 
seemed  empty  enough  to  her  husband's  hungry  heart ;  but 
they  gradually  grew  eloquent  with  words  between  the  lines, 
the  interpretation  of  which  caused  him  sleepless  nights  and 
wretched  days. 

Inevitably  his  thoughts  had  brooded  gloomily  over  the 
ill-fated  visit ;  and  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  he 
failed  to  read  the  thoughts  between  the  7lines  aright,  and 
misinterpreted  all  the  reservations. 

As  the  monthly  writing  day  drew  near,  the  highly  prized 
privilege  of  breaking  silence  assumed  the  form  of  an  almost 
dreaded  necessity.  It  was  a  difficult  and  delicate  task  to 
answer  those  letters  without  appearing  to  recognize  either 
too  much  or  too  little  :  and  he  was  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed 
to  reinstate  the  old  unshadowed  confidence.  However,  an 
unexpected  respite  occurred. 

On  the  way  to  his  cell  the  evening  before  he  was  to 
write,  his  foot  slipped  from  one  of  the  steps ;  and  although 
he  avoided  a  fall  by  clasping  the  iron  railing,  his  right  wrist 
suffered  a  violent  and  painful  wrench.  Deprived  of  the 
ability  to  write,  and  knowing  how  the  omission  of  his  ex- 
pected letter  might  alarm  Katharine,  he  was  glad  to  avail 


A  SILENT  STORM. 


239 


himself  of  his  cell-mate's  offer  to  act  as  scribe  •  and  unwill- 
ing to  dictate  anything  that  he  cared  to  say,  he  relied  upon 
the  literary  genius  of  Mr.  Williams  to  meet  the  exigency. 

Katharine,  opening  what  she  supposed  was  a  letter  from 
her  husband,  saw  with  momentary  alarm  an  unfamiliar  hand- 
writing ;  but  her  anxiety  was  allayed  as  she  read  :  — 

Miss  ALLSTON  : 

FRIEND,  —  If  it  is  allowble  to  call  you  so.  Your  husband 
permits  me  the  privilidge  of  a  dressing  you  on  his  behalf, 
in  order  to  inform  you  that  he  acsidently  spraned  his  rist 
last  night,  otherways  he  is  perfickly  well.  A  man  that  gets 
letters  from  his  wife  onct  a  day  is  more  likely  to  keep  in 
good  helth,  becawse  the  spirits  in  here  effects  the  helth. 

Your  Colonel  is  a  good  man,  and  I  saw  it  the  first  night  he 
come  in.  Being  no  hand  at  letters,  as  you  will  of  sene,  if  you 
will  ecskuse  me  I  will  close  with  graitful  thanks  for  your  Mes- 
sidges  to  me ;  for  you  don't  know  how  much  good  it  dose  a  man 
to  be  remembered  by  enny  boddy.  Messidges  to  some  of  us 
are  like  angles'  visits,  —  few  and  far  between. 
Your  respeckful  servent, 

RICHARD  WILLIAMS. 

And  below,  scrawled  in  what  bore  but  a  faint  resemblance 
to  her  husband's  usual  writing,  Katharine  read  :  — 

" Don't  worry,  dear;  I  shall  be  all  right  soon.  It's  not 
serious." 

After  the  sharp  disappointment  of  her  visit  to  her  hus- 
band, Katharine  had  taken  refuge  in  the  thought  of  his 
letters,  feeling  that  they  only  could  form  a  chain  linking  the 
happy  past  with  the  possible  future ;  but  already  one  of  the 
links  had  broken,  —  one  out  of  four.  How  could  that 
black  chasm,  that  break  in  their  lives  ever  be  spanned? 
One  by  one  the  fixed  stars  disappeared  in  her  darkening 
firmament. 


240  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

Looking  back  to  the  undaunted  courage  with  which  she 
stepped  out  from  her  happy  girlhood  into  this  dreary  wil- 
derness, only  to  find  that  her  courage  had  failed  in  the  test, 
she  lost  confidence  in  herself.  She  looked  back  to  the 
days  when,  reading  her  Emerson,  she  had  worshipped  that 
highest  form  of  self-reliance  which  is  indivisible  from  faith ; 
she  recalled  her  assurance  to  her  husband  that  she  had 
found  something  better  than  happiness ;  she  thought  of  her 
vows  of  devotion  and  endurance  the  night  after  her  mar- 
riage, of  her  prayers  to  Heaven  and  her  strong  faith  in  a 
divine,  sustaining  Power;  and  she  remembered  all  those 
things  in  bitterness  of  spirit.  Self-deception,  broken  vows, 
unanswered  prayers,  faith  betrayed  ! 

Those  calm,  high,  overarching  heavens  were  silent  and 
empty  !  Faith  was  but  a  flame  rising  upward  from  a  heated 
imagination ;  endurance  but  the  high-water  mark  of  emo- 
tion, certain  to  fall  at  turn  of  tide.  Was  there  nothing  real 
and  permanent? 

Love,  love  alone  had  not  yet  failed ;  but  would  eyen  love 
survive  every  test  of  change  ?  In  ten  years  what  would  be 
left  of  her  Robert,  the  man  she  had  married,  since  three 
months  had  wrought  such  a  change  ?  And  what  capacity 
for  love  would  be  left  in  her  own  tortured  heart  ?  She  had 
not  conceived  that  life  could  be  so  cruelly  wrong.  She 
hated  herself  for  the  momentary  aversion  which  the  sight  of 
her  husband  had  created  ;  that  aversion  early  passed  into  re- 
sentment towards  the  world  which  had  inflicted  this  humili- 
ation. The  thought  of  her  husband's  goodness  intensified 
this  bitter  sense  of  injury.  If  he  were  not  intrinsically 
good,  she  felt  that  it  all  would  not  be  so  hard  to  bear. 

Her  heart  vainly  questioned,  "  When  the  world  had 
such  need  of  men  like  him,  why,  oh  !  why,  must  he  be  shut 
up  in  prison  ?  " 

Irvington   himself   seemed   to   her   identified   with  the 


A   SILENT  STORM.  241 

malignant  force  which  had  overpowered  and  ruined  Robert 
and  herself;  living,  he  had  striven  to  injure  them,  and  in 
death  he  had  precipitated  upon  them  this  blasting  curse. 
His  life  ended,  his  desire  to  injure  was  carried  on  to  its 
most  cruel  and  effectual  fulfilment  at  the  hands  of  so-called 
justice. 

There  could  be  no  such  thing  as  justice,  human  or  divine. 
Life  was  all  a  cruel,  cruel  chance,  without  distinction 
between  the  good  and  the  bad.  The  noblest  character 
counted  for  nothing,  and  for  one  unguarded  action  was 
hurled  below  among  the  most  vicious  and  depraved  dregs 
of  society.  Even  she,  because  of  her  love  for  her  hus- 
band, must  step  from  the  heights  upon  which  her  integ- 
rity, purity,  and  faith  had  placed  her,  down  into  this  valley 
of  humiliation  where  convicts  are  doomed  to  dwell.  But 
men  black  at  heart,  unscrupulous,  merciless,  and  brutal,  so 
long  as  they  evaded  the  letter  of  the  law,  rested  secure 
under  its  protection,  and  lived  on  free,  prosperous,  enjoy- 
ing all  that  the  world  could  bestow.  Her  aching  heart 
hardened  towards  this  prosperous,  powerful  world. 

In  the  rushing  impulse  of  her  affection  she  had  blindly 
wished  to  share  her  husband's  fate  ;  and  now  she  had  en- 
tered into  it  with  all  the  intensity  of  woman's  imagination. 

Not  yet  had  the  opportunity  of  Katharine's  close  relation 
to  convict  life  dawned  upon  her.  In  her  first  natural  re- 
sistance to  its  grasp  she  failed  to  recognize  its  claim  upon 
her,  or  to  remember  that  she  too,  in  all  the  pride  of  her 
innocence  and  integrity,  had  been  a  part  of  this  same  pros- 
perous free  world  against  which  she  now  turned. 

Convict  life  is  terrible,  —  terrible  as  it  looked  to  Katha- 
rine when  she  saw  it  through  her  own  heart ;  but  it  is  not 
to  men  like  Robert  Allston,  strong  in  themselves,  that  its 
terrors  are  most  dreadful.  The  innocent  heart  of  the  pris- 
oner's wife  who  lives  in  a  back  alley  may  rebel  and  break 

16 


242 


HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 


in  silence,  no  echo  of  her  misery  reaches  the  kindly,  indif- 
ferent, ignorant  world. 

Like  many  another  heroic  soul,  Katharine  Allston  faltered 
as  she  entered  her  Gethsemane ;  learning  through  the  bit- 
terness of  her  own  sorrow  and  despair  how  to  relieve  the 
suffering  of  others ;  gaining  through  her  very  faltering,  sym- 
pathy for  those  who  have  not  only  faltered,  but  failed. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

TAKING  A   RISK. 

"  Oh,  hold  me  not,  love  me  not !    Let  me  retrieve  thee ! 
I  love  thee  so,  dear,  that  I  only  can  leave  thee  ! " 

j[HE  minor  chords  in  Katharine's  letters  asserted 
themselves  with   increasing  distinctness;   and 
each  one  of  these  letters  strengthened  the  reso- 
lution gradually  forming  in  her  husband's  mind. 
And  then  Miss  Crissfield  wrote  :  — 

"  I  can  do  nothing  for  Katharine  ;  she  has  isolated  herself 
completely,  —  not  that  she  avoids  every  one,  only  the  noli  me 
tangere  atmosphere  about  her  is  impenetrable.  Mrs.  Kennard 
wants  to  take  her  East ;  but  she  meets  all  such  proposals  with 
a  simple  '  Do  not  take  me  away  from  home  ;  there  's  nothing 
the  matter  with  me.'  What  worries  me  more  than  anything 
else  is  that  even  when  we  are  alone  she  does  not  speak  of 
you.  That  is  so  unlike  her.  It  seems  as  if  her  heart  were 
frozen.  You  must  help  her ;  you  have  the  right  and  the  power 
to  break  through  this  ice.  If  you  can  only  start  a  flood  of 
tears,  it  will  do  her  good. 

"  Mrs.  Kennard  is  terribly  anxious,  and  the  Doctor  looks 
troubled,  although  he  said  to  me  yesterday,  '  She  has  not  had 
time  to  adjust  herself  yet;  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  things 
that  the  state  of  exaltation  in  which  she  went  through  her 


244  ffIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

marriage  and  parting  could  last ;  and  a  reaction  was  inevi- 
table,' —  which  is  the  scientific  translation  of  '  The  higher  we 
go  up  upon  the  mountains,  the  lower  we  go  down  into  the 
valleys.'  But  neither  science  nor  poetry  proves  that  it  is  safe 
for  Katharine  to  stay  down  where  she  is.  Some  one  must 
help  her,  and  I  have  great  faith  in  you." 

Out  of  all  this  trouble  Robert  saw  but  one  possible  open- 
ing for  Katharine.  He  dared  not  think  of  himself  as  he 
wrote,  early  in  November  :  — 

MY  DEAREST,  —  At  last  the  time  has  come  when  I  can 
break  the  silence.  I  have  been  most  anxious  to  write  you 
before ;  but  perhaps  the  delay  was  best,  as  it  has  only  made 
more  clear  the  course  to  be  taken. 

Our  interview  and  your  conscientiously  written  letters  since 
then  have  convinced  me  that  our  marriage  is  more  than  you 
can  bear.  We  were  both  mistaken  in  thinking  it  was  best; 
we  could  not  tell  how  hard  it  was  going  to  be.  You  must  not 
reproach  yourself  for  what  you  thought  was  right,  any  more 
than  you  will  blame  me.  You  were  true  to  yourself  and  to 
me  ;  only  it  is  more  than  you  can  bear. 

It  is  as  if  you  were  willing  to  pass  through  flames  for  my 
sake;  you  might  be  able  to  do  it,  but  only  by  the  complete 
sacrifice  of  yourself. 

It  is  far  harder  for  me  to  see  you  sacrificed  as  my  wife 
than  it  will  be  to  give  you  up.  I  don't  know  how  you  can  be 
released.  If  you  use  none  of  my  property,  if  I  have  it  with- 
held, and  we  cease  to  correspond  or  see  each  other,  I  think 
the  release  can  be  effected  on  the  technical  ground  of  deser- 
tion. Mr.  Dempster  will  know  all  about  that. 

You  must  go  abroad.  If  your  father  and  mother  cannot 
take  you,  some  other  arrangement  must  be  made  ;  you  might 
enter  a  German  Conservatory  of  Music.  If  you  prefer  not  to 
have  a  legal  separation,  still  you  must  take  your  freedom,  — 
freedom  from  the  constant  thought  of  the  prison,  —  and  seek 
change  of  scene  and  new  interests  before  it  is  too  late.  .You 


TAKING  A   RISK. 


245 


are  wearing  yourself  out  in  heart  and  mind,  and  your  health 
too  will  break  if  you  are  not  rescued  soon. 

The  consciousness  of  this  is  intolerable  to  me. 

Do  not  attempt  to  answer  this  letter.  I  know  too  well  what 
the  result  would  be  with  your  pen  under  the  guidance  of  your 
heart.  Just  take  from  me  the  gift  of  your  freedom,  and  let  us 
say  good-bye  now  and  here  ;  and  may  Heaven  bless  you  / 

ROBERT  ALLSTON. 

How  he  hated  the  thought  of  that  letter  being  read  by 
an  officer,  and  his  romantic  marriage  and  its  outcome 
lightly  commented  upon?  The  fact  that  his  heart  was 
pierced  could  not  save  him  from  the  sting  of  nettles. 
Not  until  the  letter  had  passed  out  of  his  hands  did  he 
dare  to  consider  what  this  step  involved  for  himself;  but 
now,  when  the  irrevocable  message  was  sent,  this  realiza- 
tion overwhelmed  him.  His  loss  absorbed  every  feeling 
except  a  wild  desire  to  break  away  from  all  his  trouble,  to 
escape  from  the  horrible  nightmare  of  the  last  six  months 
into  the  natural  daylight  of  existence,  to  throw  off  this 
burden  of  sin  and  sorrow,  and  to  seize  again  the  love  he 
had  relinquished,  the  happiness  he  had  lost. 

As  Monday,  Tuesday,  and  Wednesday  passed,  the  sense 
of  desolation  overpowered  the  feeling  of  desperation,  and 
he  gave  way  to  utter  despair.  He  dared  not  hope  for  any 
change  in  Katharine ;  the  forced  and  painful  intercourse 
by  letter  was  simply  intolerable :  and  yet,  to  give  her  up 
was  more  terrible  than  he  had  thought. 

Williams,  who  was  puzzled  and  deeply  concerned  over 
the  marked  alteration  in  his  cell-mate,  ventured  to  express 
himself  on  Wednesday  evening,  saying :  — 

"  You  are  getting  too  many  gray  hairs,  Colonel,  and  your 
flesh  is  falling  off  like  snow  in  a  south  wind,  and  there  's  a 
look  in  your  eyes  I  don't  like  to  see.  It  makes  me  think 
of  the  look  a  stag  once  give  me  after  I  'd  shot  it.  I  'd  of 


246  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

given  ten  dollars  if  I  could  of  taken  the  bullet  out  of  him 
when  he  give  me  that  look.  You  ought  to  see  the  doctor, 
for  it  appears  as  if  you  must  be  sick.  That  little  wife  of 
your  'n  would  n't  be  glad  to  hear  of  your  being  down  with 
the  typhus." 

"  I  do  feel  terribly  out  of  sorts,"  said  Allston  listlessly,  tak- 
ing up  a  newspaper  to  avoid  further  personal  comment. 

The  out-going  prison  mail  was  always  subject  to  two  or 
three  days'  delay,  and  Allston  expected  this  Wednesday 
evening  to  receive  one  more  letter  from  his  wife,  —  the  last 
one  written  before  his  letter  reached  her.  As  the  guard 
with  the  mail  approached,  Allston's  pulses  quickened ;  he 
stood  beside  the  door  of  the  cell  and  extended  a  hand 
that  trembled  with  eagerness.  The  guard  passed  by  with- 
out pausing,  merely  shaking  his  head  as  he  noticed  the 
prisoner's  expectant  attitude. 

Allston  grew  ghastly  pale,  and  turned  away  like  a  broken 
man.  By  a  quick  inspiration  of  observant  sympathy  Wil- 
liams blew  out  the  candle  as  Allston  sank  down  on  the  bed 
and  buried  his  face  in  his  folded  arms. 

The  letter  had  reached  Katharine,  then,  her  husband 
thought;  she  had  accepted  her  freedom, —  the  end  had 
come  ! 

A  blinding  pain  shot  through  his  temples ;  his  heart 
seemed  breaking  under  the  crushing  weight  that  had  fallen 
upon  it.  The  guard  who  delivered  the  mail  passed  the 
cell  on  his  return.  Williams  relighted  the  candle,  and  said 
something  that  sounded  miles  away  to  the  prostrate  man  ; 
then  a  hand  was  laid  on  Allston's  shoulder,  and  a  rough 
whisper  penetrated  his  consciousness,  — 

"  Come,  rouse  up  !  Here  's  your  letter ;  the  guard  got 
'em  mixed.  You  must  be  sick  to  knock  under  like  that." 

Allston  took  the  letter  without  a  word;  he  was  abso- 
lutely speechless  in  the  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


THE   KEY-NOTE   CHANGES. 

AN  this  be  my  answer?"  was  Robert's  only 
thought  as  he  unfolded  the  closely  written 
sheets.  The  first  line  told  that  his  letter  had 
not  reached  Katharine ;  but  he  eagerly  seized 
any  respite  now  from  the  dreaded  hour  when  he  might  no 
longer  claim  her  love.  With  warming  heart  he  read  :  — 

MY  OWN  DEAR  HUSBAND,  —  "To-morrow  will  bring  me 
your  letter  !  "  —  that  is  the  thought  that  is  singing  in  my  heart 
as  I  turn  to  you  this  evening  to  make  a  little  confession  and 
to  give  you  the  story  of  this  day. 

If  I  were  not  so  very  sure  of  your  goodness,  I  might  be 
afraid  to  come  to  confession  ;  but  I  know  that  you  never,  never 
fail  to  take  the  highest,  most  generous  view  of  everything. 
It  is  such  a  comfort  for  me  to  feel  that  whatever  my  failures 
or  variableness  may  be,  your  goodness  is  always  the  same. 

Now  just  fancy  for  a  moment  that  you  are  holding  both  my 
hands.  There  !  I  have  fancied  it  too  ;  now  I  can  go  on. 

He  paused  for  an  instant,  and  seemed  to  feel  the  soft, 
magnetic  clasp. 

Dear,  I  have  spent  this  day  with  Mrs.  Irvington.  It  all 
came  about  so  unexpectedly.  I  went  off  to  the  lake  yester- 
day. The  day  was  perfectly  dismal ;  fold  on  fold  of  heavy 
gray  shrouded  the  sky,  and  the  lake,  dark  and  sullen,  stretched 
out  an  unbroken  waste  of  desolate  waters.  I  was  in  the  very 


248  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

depths  of  despair.  Of  all  my  black  days,  this  was  the  blackest; 
and  except  for  you,  I  believe  I  should  have  been  tempted  to 
end  everything  then  and  there. 

I  was  too  miserably,  selfishly,  desperately  wretched  to  live. 
I  hated  the  world  ;  but  most  of  all  I  hated  Mr.  Irvington. 

And  when  I  turned  to  go  home,  there,  right  before  me, 
in  her  crape-bordered  garments,  was  his  mother.  I  was  so 
startled  and  nervous  that  I  wanted  to  fly.  I  felt  that  she 
could  only  have  come  as  an  accusing  spirit.  But  oh,  Robert,  I 
never  can  tell  you  how  lovely  she  was  !  I  can't  even  remem- 
ber her  words;  but  they  were  words  of  the 'very  sweetest 
sympathy.  And  she  told  me  that  she  had  long  ago  wished  to 
know  me,  and  that  now,  since  we  were  enveloped  in  a  common 
sorrow,  she  thought  we  ought  to  know  each  other ;  and  she 
said  she  knew  how  hard  it  must  be  for  me,  because  youth  and 
happiness  do  not  know  how  to  meet  grief. 

My  heart  melted  under  her  words ;  and  it  seemed  so  strange 
that  the  very  thing  one  would  consider  a  barrier  forever  should 
have  drawn  her  to  me. 

Her  beautiful  and  generous  spirit  was  a  light  to  me.  I  saw 
and  felt  that  you  and  I  are  not  the  only  sufferers.  My  bitter 
feeling  towards  her  son  began  to  look  pitifully  narrow  and 
wrong.  She  did  not  seem  to  remember  that  if  the  love  of  her 
son  had  not  been  given  to  me,  he  would  be  living  to-day  ;  but 
I  remembered  it. 

I  felt  so  responsible,  I  longed  to  make  some  atonement  for 
her  loss.  I  was  ready  to  do  anything  for  her  ;  and  when  she 
happened  to  mention  being  very  busy  with  charity  sewing,  I 
asked  if  I  might  not  help  her.  And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  I 
went  to  her  to-day. 

Her  home  is  very  unlike  mine.  There  is  a  bygone  air,  a 
sort  of  pressed-flower  effect  about  everything,  except  a  new 
sewing-machine,  which  flaunts  its  young  American  glitter  of 
steel  and  varnish  under  the  faded  old  brocaded  curtains  of  a 
west  window.  The  attraction  of  the  room  was  a  quaint  cast- 
iron  stove  with  an  open  grated  front,  where  crooked  sticks 
blazed  socially. 

As  I  stood  warming  my  fingers,  I  glanced  over  the  titles 


THE  KEY-NOTE  CHANGES. 


249 


of  the  volumes  in  a  tall  narrow  bookcase  near  by;  and  when 
I  noticed  an  English  work  on  Oriental  religions,  it  recalled  my 
first  meeting  and  conversation  with  Mr.  Irvington  at  Dora 
Crissfield's  ;  and  I  could  see  how,  from  that  very  afternoon,  his 
destiny  and  mine  were  turned.  On  Mrs.  Irvington's  writing- 
desk  there  was  a  photograph  of  her  son,  in  which  his  best 
expression  was  taken,  —  an  expression  that  I  had  forgotten. 

It  seemed  like  a  dream  to  be  in  his  mother's  house,  and 
to  be  reminded  of  him  in  ways  that  did  not  shock  or  hurt  me. 
It  is  best,  dear,  is  n't  it?  It  is  as  you  would  like  it  to  be? 

After  dinner,  as  we  sewed  together,  Mrs.  Irvington  told 
me  the  pitiful  story  of  the  deserted  wife  for  whom  we  were 
working,  and  who  had  contrived  to  conceal  her  destitution 
until  the  new  baby  came.  I  made  two  cunning  little  baby 
dresses  ;  they  looked  so  like  a  baby  when  they  were  finished,  — 
though  they  were  not  the  dainty  white  things  trimmed  with 
lace  that  I  supposed  all  infants  wore.  I  used  the  sewing- 
machine,  —  a  novelty  to  me  ;  and  it  was  very  fascinating  to  see 
the  long  seams  develop  so  rapidly  under  my  guidance.  The 
afternoon  seemed  very  short,  and  at  its  close  Mrs.  Irvington 
asked  me  to  go  with  her  to  take  Mrs.  Jessup  the  things  we 
had  made. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  picture  of  bare  and  wretched  pov- 
erty that  I  encountered.  The  little  room  was  chilly  and 
smoky,  and  the  green  wood  in  the  broken  stove  simmered 
forlornly.  There  was  not  a  chair  in  the  room.  On  an  in- 
verted box  beside  the  stove  sat  a  half-dressed,  shivering  wo- 
man, with  a  moving  bundle  in  her  arms.  A  perfect  wealth  of 
tangled  auburn  hair  fell  about  her  shoulders,  and  she  looked 
up  at  me  out  of  a  pair  of  limpid  violet  eyes.  I  never  sup- 
posed poor  people  had  such  lovely  eyes. 

Two  little  children  sat  on  the  floor;  the  eldest,  a  girl  of 
six,  had  a  tear-stained,  doleful  face,  and  conspicuously  held  up 
a  bandaged  arm,  which  she  had  burned  in  moving  the  tea- 
kettle. 

I  was  amazed  to  see  how  Mrs.  Irvington  knew  just  what 
to  do.  She  straightened  out  the  disordered  bed  and  tucked 
mother  and  baby  snugly  into  it;  she  found  a  hatchet  and  split 


250  ffIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

the  dry  box  into  kindlings,  saying,  by  way  of  justification,  "  I  '11 
send  you  a  chair  to-morrow."  In  ten  minutes  the  fire  was 
burning  cheerily,  the  tea-kettle  singing,  the  tea  steeping,  the 
lamp  lighted,  and  the  litter  on  the  floor  all  swept  away. 

Not  knowing  how  to  be  of  practical  assistance,  I  picked 
the  little  burned  girl  off  the  floor  and  seated  her  on  the  table  ; 
then  I  told  her  a  story  and  comforted  her  with  promises  for 
to-morrow;  and  then  Mrs.  Jessup  and  I  had  a  little  talk. 

How  do  you  think  it  made  me  feel,  Robert,  when  she  said 
this  ?  "  Yes,  it  was  hard ;  a  very  light  breakfast,  no  dinner, 
a  very  light  supper,  day  after  day.  More  than  once  me  and 
the  children  just  cried,  we  were  so  hungry ;  and  then,  too,  I 
was  so  lonesome  without  him,  and  so  worried  for  fear  he  might 
be  tempted  to  steal.  But  I  kept  on  hoping  something  would 
happen  better  than  the  poorhouse;  and  you  see  Mrs.  Irving- 
ton  happened.  And  when  I  get  well  and  get  work,  you  must 
call  again  and  see  what  a  tidy  house  I  can  keep." 

How  do  you  think  this  made  me  feel,  Robert  Allston,  — 
I  standing  there  in  my  horribly  expensive  India  shawl  that 
mother  gave  me  last  week  ? 

But  the  baby  was  the  funniest  thing,  —  just  the  least  little 
sample  of  humanity,  with  a  velvet  skin  and  soft  red  hair  like 
a  wig ! 

When  I  bade  Mrs.  Irvington  good-by,  I  told  her  that  I 
should  like  to  do  something  more  for  her.  She  took  me  at  my 
word,  and  asked  me  to  leave  my  veil  with  her. 

I  knew  in  a  moment  what  she  meant,  and  I  came  near 
refusing ;  but  I  handed  her  the  veil,  and  walked  home  with 
my  face  uncovered,  —  for  the  first  time,  dear  ;  but  I  knew  in 
my  heart  it  was  best. 

What  a  long,  long  letter !  and  I  feel  as  if  I  had  left  vol- 
umes unsaid;  for  you  know  all  that  is  in  my  heart  belongs 
to  you. 

Ever  your  own  KATHARINE. 

Robert's  letter  had  received  its  answer.  Clearly  his  wife 
was  his  own  still ;  and  better,  surer  help  had  come  to  her 
than  any  foreign  Conservatory  of  Music  could  give. 


THE  KEY-NOTE   CHANGES.  251 

And  it  was  the  mother  of  the  man  he  had  killed  who 
had  given  him  back  his  Katharine.  That  knowledge  was 
terrible  ;  the  coals  of  fire  had  fallen  indeed  ! 

But  a  sweet  consolation  came  with  the  thought  that 
Katharine,  out  of  the  fulness  of  her  own  heart,  longed  to 
make  all  possible  reparation  to  the  mother  he  had  wronged. 
She  could  respond  to  Mrs.  Irvington's  beautiful  generosity 
as  he  was  powerless  to  do  :  this  seemed  to  make  his  wife 
more  one  with  him.  How  weary  he  was  with  the  strain  of 
the  last  weeks  !  And  now  Katharine  had  come  back  to  him 
in  this  way.  He  could  not  sleep  that  night  for  the  visions 
of  the  two  blessed  women  meeting  in  their  sympathy  for 
each  other  to  relieve  the  sorrows  of  another  suffering 
woman. 

Neither  Robert  Allston  nor  his  wife  ever  could  know 
that  during  the  evening  of  the  day  in  which  Katharine  had 
been  with  her,  Mrs.  Irvington  was  thinking :  "  That  inno- 
cent girl  did  not  dream  how  hard  it  was  to  me,  —  all  the 
harder  because  she  is  so  lovely.  How  could  my  poor  boy 
have  helped  loving  her?  O  Joe  !  Joe  !  why  was  it  that 
every  one  whose  life  touched  yours  suffered  in  conse- 
quence? I  wonder  if  that  consciousness  torments  you 
now  as  it  does  me ;  if  you  see  her  bearing  this  sorrow,  and 
if  that  is  your  punishment?  If  I  could  only  lighten  it  for 
her  and  for  you  !  It  was  for  your  sake  that  I  asked  her 
here.  I  think  you  would  like  to  know  that  we  can  be 
friends,  —  the  mother  who  loved  you,  and  the  woman  you 
loved. 

"If  I  could  only  forget  that  it  was  you  who  brought 
about  the  lawsuit ;  if  you  had  not  told  me  that  you  wanted 
to  injure  him  !  There  is  so  much  that  I  want  to  forget. 
We  can  forgive  our  dead ;  but  how  can  we  bear  the  mem- 
ory of  the  pain  they  caused  in  life  ?  "  and  her  work  dropped 
from  her  hands ;  she  could  not  see  for  tears. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 


THE  ANSWER  TO  A  FAREWELL. 

"  There  is  no  hope  but  this,  —  to  see, 
Through  tears  that  gather  fast  and  fall, 
Too  great  to  perish  Love  must  be, 
And  Love  shall  save  us  all." 

OTWITHSTANDING  his  great  relief  after  the 
one  letter,  Allston  was  nervously  impatient  to 
hear  again  from  his  wife.  Had  he  really 
doubted  her  love  and  courage  ;  and  would  she 
be  deeply  hurt,  and  he  unable  to  send  one  line  of  com- 
fort? How  the  hours  dragged  all  through  that  endless 
day  !  And  when  evening  came,  and  he  held  another  letter 
in  his  hand,  he  dreaded  to  break  the  seal. 

But  he  had  nothing  to  dread,  for  this  was  what  Katha- 
rine had  written :  — 

MY  OWN  DEAREST,  —  I  carried  your  letter  away  to  my 
room  to  enjoy  it  all  alone. 

I  read  it  over  and  over  ;  but  whether  more  kisses  or  more 
tears  covered  it,  I  never  can  tell.  It  is  all  blurred  now,  as  it 
ought  to  be. 

Oh,  Robert,  how  can  I  ever  take  away  the  pain  I  have 
given  you!  And  you  thought  I  could  live  without  you!  It 
seems  now  as  if  I  never  could  live  until  we  meet  again  and  I 
can  blot  from  your  remembrance  our  last  meeting. 


THE  ANSWER    TO  A   FAREWELL.  253 

I  was  wrong  in  trying  to  be  courageous  alone  when  I  most 
needed  you.  If  I  had  only  been  frank  with  you  and  told  you 
how  terribly  unhappy  I  was,  you  could  not  have  misunder- 
stood me  ;  but  I  wanted  to  save  you  from  pain,  dear,  for  / 
loved  you  so! 

Had  your  letter  come  two  days  earlier,  when  I  was  most 
wretched,  I  might  only  have  felt  that  I  had  disappointed  you, 
and  then  I  should  have  been  ready  to  fly  to  Europe  or  any- 
where in  my  despair,  and  there  would  have  been  no  end  to 
the  misery.  But  you  know  from  my  last  letter  that  the  clouds 
had  begun  to  break  above  me  ;  I  am  so  glad  that  I  had  sent 
that  letter  before  yours  came. 

There  is  to  be  perfect  confidence  between  us,  and  I  will 
confess  that,  in  a  way  which  I  hardly  understand  now,  my 
meeting  with  you  at  the  prison  gave  me  a  terrible  shock.  I 
know  that  it  betrayed  great  weakness,  but  it  was  a  fact. 

And  just  here  I  am  going  to  have  the  satisfaction  of  saying 
that  the  prison  dress  is  a  most  unnecessary  cruelty,  without 
the  shadow  of  an  excuse.  No  one  need  say  that  it  does  not 
affect  the  nerves  and  spirits  of  the  men  who  wear  it;  it  is  an 
outrage  upon  our  humanity.  A  plain  decent  uniform  of  any 
dark  color  not  worn  by  men  outside  would  serve  the  purpose 
of  identification  in  case  of  escape,  and  could  have  no  demora- 
lizing influence.  A  soldier's  uniform  is  recognizable  at  a 
glance. 

Does  the  prison  aim  to  make  men  of  its  inmates,  or  does 
it  wish  to  rob  them  of  manhood  ?  It  is  n't  going  to  rob  you  of 
manhood,  for  nothing  can  do  that ;  but  does  not  even  dear  Mr. 
Everett  feel  a  sort  of  moral  support  in  his  ministerial  dress  ? 

And  now,  dear,  shall  I  tell  you  about  my  morning  ?  I  have 
been  using  some  of  your  money  for  you  to-day ;  it  is  the  first 
time  I  have  drawn  on  our  bank-account.  I  felt  something  like 
the  good  woman  in  the  Sunday-school  books  when  I  bought 
wood  and  flannel  and  tea  and  beef,  all  sorts  of  practical  things, 
for  Mrs.  Jessup.  I  knew  that  you  would  want  them  to  be 
made  quite  comfortable  until  the  poor  woman  could  do  some- 
thing for  herself.  Oh,  how  forgetful  of  others,  how  wrong  I 
have  been  ! 


254  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

Of  course  they  were  behind  in  their  rent,  and  their  land- 
lord threatened  to  have  them  ejected ;  consequently  I  inter- 
viewed their  landlord :  who  do  you  suppose  ?  That  Mr. 
Bayard  Elamsford  who  made  so  much  money  in  cotton 
speculations ! 

I  paid  up  the  three  months'  rent  back,  and  one  in  advance ; 
and  then  I  said,  "  Is  that  all  ?  "  and  he  answered  :  "  Not  quite 
all;  there's  the  receipt."  I  was  very  much  embarrassed,  and 
began  to  blush  as  I  said  :  "  I  do  not  know  how  to  make  out  a 
receipt."  He  looked  amused,  and  had  the  audacity  to  reply  : 
"No  charming  woman  needs  to  be  versed  in  business.  It  is 
I  who  make  out  the  receipt." 

I  was  furious  over  my  blunder,  but  made  no  comment ; 
only  I  meekly  requested  that  he  should  have  the  broken  panes 
replaced  in  the  window  of  his  wretched  tenement-house. 

And  now  do  you  think  that  I  went  around  to  see  Mrs. 
Jessup  ?  Not  I;  I  had  not  the  courage.  I  thought  that  after 
all  she  has  suffered,  within  three  blocks  of  our  luxurious  home, 
if  she  should  happen  to  show  the  grace  of  gratitude  for  the 
bare  necessaries  I  had  sent  her,  I  should  feel  too  deeply  hu- 
miliated. Do  you  think  I  shall  ever  become  reconciled  to  my 
India  shawl  ? 

Dear,  I  have  not  answered  your  letter,  —  I  cannot  answer 
it !  To  think  what  you  must  have  suffered  before  writing  it, 
makes  me  feel  that  I  can  never  forgive  myself.  Words  are 
so  weak  !  Listen,  dear,  and  see  if  you  cannot  hear  what  my 
heart  says  to  yours  ? 

For  time  and  for  eternity, 

Your  own 

KATHARINE. 

After  reading  this  letter,  nothing  in  his  own  fate  seemed 
hard  to  Allston  for  the  moment,  except  that  he  could  not 
reach  out  and  clasp  his  darling  to  his  heart.  A  new  faith 
in  God  and  in  life  was  born  in  his  soul.  He  felt  that  the 
great  mysterious  spiritual  laws  under  which  Katharine  was 
guarded  were  more  powerful  and  unerring  than  his  love. 


THE  ANSWER   TO  A  FAREWELL.  255 

"Seems  to  me  you're  getting  rather  unsociable  lately, 
Colonel,"  broke  in  the  unwelcome  voice  of  Williams  when 
a  long  silence  had  followed  the  reading  of  Katharine's 
letter. 

Allston  aroused  himself  to  the  present,  the  prison,  and 
his  cell-mate  with  an  effort,  —  he  had  quite  forgotten  them  ; 
but  now  he  noticed  that  Williams  looked  unusually  bored. 

"  You  seem  kind  of  absent ;  everything  all  right  with 
your  folks  ? " 

"  Yes,  everything  is  more  than  all  right.  I  've  had  two 
splendid  letters  from  my  wife  this  week.  They  have  given 
me  a  good  deal  to  think  of,  and  I  must  have  been  a  dull 
companion." 

Allston  could  not  get  his  mind  off  the  letters ;  and  in 
order  to  enliven  the  old  man  and  think  of  Katharine  at  the 
same  time,  he  introduced  the  Jessups  to  his  cell-mate,  con- 
veying to  him  the  glimpse  that  Katharine  had  given  of  the 
poverty-stricken  interior,  and  telling  of  the  interest  she  had 
taken  in  its  inmates. 

Williams  was  greatly  amused  by  Mrs.  Allston's  blunder 
about  the  receipt ;  and  after  chuckling  over  it  in  silence  for 
a  few  minutes,  he  remarked  :  — 

"  It  is  curious  how  a  right  smart  woman  don't  seem  to 
have  natural  sense  when  it  comes  to  business.  Their  in- 
nocent foolishness  does  beat  all.  Violetta  had  no  head 
for  business ;  but  when  it  came  to  doing  things,  she  was 
smart  as  a  whip."  And  then,  as  the  name  of  Violetta  was 
sure  to  stir  some  reminiscence,  he  rambled  on  :  "  Violetta 
had  an  eye  for  everything  pretty.  I  remember  one  summer 
we  camped  out  on  an  island  in  the  Mississippi,  in  a  board 
shanty  that  some  tourists  had  erected  the  year  before. 
Those  was  about  the  happiest  weeks  of  our  life,  —  hunt- 
ing, fishing,  and  reading  together. 

"  It  was  my  delight  to  teach  Vi  to  shoot  squirrels  and 


256  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

pheasants,  and  practise  with  revolvers.  I  made  a  famous 
shot  of  Vi  before  we  went  home.  I  recollect  one  after- 
noon we  went  on  a  ramble  over  some  hills,  found  some 
blackberries,  and  Violetta  marked  out  a  hundred  spots  of 
moss  to  carry  home  with  her.  She  had  the  fancy  plumes 
and  colors  of  more  than  a  dozen  birds,  intending  to  orna- 
ment her  hats  with  them. 

"  One  day  I  shot  an  eagle,  and  under  the  wings  Violetta 
found  a  lot  of  white  feathers  which  she  curled,  and  they 
were  equal  to  ostrich-feathers.  I  used  to  tell  her  that  we 
might  go  into  the  plume  and  feather  business,  for  she 
could  of  done  as  neat  a  job  dressing  feathers  as  if  she  had 
of  been  brought  up  to  the  trade.  But  if  ever  she  had  tried 
to  sell  them  she  would  of  got  cheated  by  her  customers,  for 
anybody  could  puzzle  her  at  figures." 

Williams  always  loved  to  linger  around  Violetta,  —  the 
one  oasis  in  the  desert  of  his  life ;  and  in  all  his  reminis- 
cences of  his  wife  there  was  a  simple  pastoral  element  that 
seemed  remote  from  the  rest  of  his  life.  When  he  spoke 
of  her  —  perhaps  unconsciously  yielding  to  some  influence 
from  literature  —  he  used  better  forms  of  speech  than  when 
he  spoke  of  other  matters.  The  poetry  of  his  existence 
was  centred  in  her ;  and  Allston  grew  to  think  of  Violetta 
almost  as  some  legendary  Minnehaha.  With  his  heart 
cheered  by  the  thought  of  his  own  living,  loving  Katharine, 
that  blossom  of  modern  civilization,  Allston  followed, 
through  her  husband's  persistent  retrospection,  many  an 
adventure  of  the  child  of  Nature,  Violetta,  who  came 
bringing  visions  of  wild  flowers  and  forest  sounds  and 
scents. 

It  was  not  only  two  lonely  men  who  peopled  that 
prison-cell. 


CHAPTER  XL. 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  HAPPINESS. 

AS  it  the  brilliant  winter  day  that  reflected  its 
radiance   in   Katharine   Allston's   face   as   she 
stood  beside  a  grated  window  within  the  prison 
awaiting  her  husband  one  afternoon  in  the  fol- 
lowing December? 

Since  the  more  perfect  understanding  recently  developed 
between  them,  they  had  indeed  been  very  near  in  spirit ; 
and  now  the  sound  of  Robert's  voice  thrilled  Katharine 
with  all  the  old  blissful  ecstasy,  and  when  the  sudden  glad 
light  in  her  eyes  was  flashed  into  his,  Robert  felt  as  if  the 
heavens  had  opened. 

"  I  am  so  happy  just  to  be  with  you  again  that  I  have  n't 
a  word  to  say,"  whispered  Katharine  as  she  withdrew  from 
her  husband's  embrace  with  a  tide  of  warm  color  sweeping 
over  her  face. 

"  But  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,"  was  the  low  re- 
ply. "  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  am  ashamed  of  the  letter  I 
wrote  you ;  it  seems  such  a  piece  of  mock  heroism  to  me 
now.  How  did  I  ever  dream  that  I  could  give  you  up  ?  " 
and  he  looked  at  her  with  such  ardent  intensity  that  she 
suddenly  hid  her  face  against  the  folds  of  the  despised 
convict  suit. 

17 


258  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

Her  eyelashes  glistened  when  she  raised  her  head  a 
moment  later,  and  her  voice  was  not  quite  steady  as  she 
said :  — 

"  Of  course  the  letter  was  a  mistake,  —  we  both  know  that ; 
let  us  forget  it.  We  did  not  think  we  could  ever  be  willing 
to  forget  anything  that  happened  between  us,  did  we,  dear? 
But  I  've  been  thinking,  on  the  way  here  to-day,  that  con- 
sidering all  the  history  of  the  last  eight  months  —  I  Ve 
been  thinking  that  on  the  whole  we've  done  very  well. 
Only  look  back  to  what  we  were  a  year  ago,  —  young,  ig- 
norant, and  happy,  supposing  our  world  was  all  love  and 
sunshine ;  and  we  have  been  through  this  awful  experience 
of  sin  and  sorrow ;  we  have  been  in  danger  of  losing  each 
other ;  we  have  married  and  have  been  parted ;  and  we 
have  felt  this  horrible  prison  side  of  life  in  the  very  depths 
of  our  being.  Was  it  so  strange  that  in  the  crumbling  of 
so  much  that  we  had  believed  permanent,  —  was  it  strange 
that  even  the  outline  of  our  love  seemed  for  a  little  time 
distorted?  How  could  we  at  once  adjust  ourselves  to  our 
changed  world  ?  Robert,  think  of  it !  after  all  this,  here 
we  stand  to-day,  holding  each  other's  hands,  one  in  heart 
and  in  soul  and  in  faith  in  God,  —  one  in  the  determi- 
nation not  to  shirk  the  claims  of  life,  but  to  meet  them, 
you  within,  and  I  outside  the  prison. 

"This  sounds  dreadfully  like  an  oration,  dear,  doesn't 
it?  "  she  suddenly  broke  off,  lifting  her  face  to  his  in  a  way 
that  was  irresistibly  tempting. 

"  Katie,  my  darling,  you  make  me  more  in  love  with  you 
than  ever.  Don't  look  at  me  in  that  distracting  fashion,  for 
I  want  to  talk  to  you ;  I  have  a  thousand  things  to  say."  - 
They  settled  into  a  confidential  talk  in  the  lowest  under- 
tones, and  bolts  and  bars  were  forgotten  for  the  remainder 
of  the  interview. 

When  the  farewell  came,  Katharine  whispered  to  her 


A    GLIMPSE  OF  HAPPINESS. 

husband  :  "  You  have  given  me  so  much  in  this  half  hour  ! 
I  feel  as  if  this  meeting  would  last  until  we  meet  again." 

"Katharine,"  said  her  father  as  they  were  leaving  the 
prison,  "  I  have  an  invitation  for  you  and  your  mother  to 
spend  a  Sunday  here  when  it  is  time  for  you  to  come  again. 
The  warden  says  that  as  his  guest  you  can  have  a  long 
visit  with  Robert  on  the  Sunday  afternoon." 

"I  want  to  see  the  warden:  where  is  he?"  demanded 
Katharine,  turning  from  the  door. 

"He  is  right  here  in  his  office,"  said  the  Doctor;  and 
as  a  voice  replied,  "  Come  !  "  in  answer  to  Dr.  Kennard's 
knock,  Katharine  entered.  She  advanced  directly  to  Mr. 
Ellis  and  took  his  hand,  saying,  — 

"  I  wish  to  thank  you  for  your  very  great  kindness  in 
asking  me  to  spend  a  Sunday  here  :  there  's  nothing  in  all 
the  world  that  could  be  more  to  me  now ;  "  and  releasing 
the  hand,  she  bowed  and  withdrew  •  while  Mr.  Ellis's  tran- 
quil smile  accorded  with  his  sense  of  personal  satisfaction 
in  her  gratitude.  Her  ardent,  self-reliant  nature  stirred  his 
admiration  more  than  his  sympathy. 

Katharine  had  a  way  of  drawing  upon  future  pleasures 
and  making  them  a  part  of  her  present.  Between  the 
memory  of  "that  beautiful  visit,"  as  she  called  it  in  her 
thoughts,  and  the  anticipation  of  the  coming  Sunday,  her 
days  were  brightened ;  but  as  the  anticipated  Sunday  ap- 
proached, the  prospect  changed.  Mrs.  Kennard  was  taken 
ill  with  an  attack  of  inflammatory  rheumatism,  and  Katharine 
was  so  indispensable  in  the  sick-room  that  she  hesitated  to 
leave  her  mother,  even  for  the  usual  half-hour  visit  with 
her  husband.  But  Mrs.  Kennard,  who  was  not  the  woman 
to  forget  the  needs  and  the  claims  of  affection,  kept  trace 
of  the  days  of  the  month,  and  disposed  of  Katharine's 
objections  to  leaving  her  with  the  single  appeal :  "  Don't 
add  to  the  pain  which  I  am  obliged  to  suffer,  the  distress 


2<5O  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

which  it  would  give  me  to  deprive  you  and  Robert  of  a 
single  meeting." 

And  Katharine  accepted  the  one  day's  release,  and  re- 
turned to  her  ministrations  in  the  sick-room  with  a  quiet 
light  of  hope  and  courage  in  her  eyes  which  more  than 
rewarded  her  mother  for  the  short  absence. 

The  line  of  Katharine's  anticipation  was  now  thrown  for- 
ward another  three  months,  and  her  Sunday  in  March  gave 
place  to  a  Sunday  in  June.  But  she  was  too  closely  oc- 
cupied with  her  mother's  illness  and  convalescence  in  the 
intermediate  weeks  to  give  any  consideration  to  her  own 
wants  or  plans. 

In  the  care  and  devotion  which  Katharine  lavished  upon 
her  mother,  insensibly  to  both  the  slight  estrangements 
which  had  for  months  existed  between  them  vanished  com- 
pletely. A  novice  at  housekeeping,  anything  like  domestic 
care  was  beyond  the  line  of  Katharine's  experience.  With 
the  fatality  which  seems  to  attend  the  first  invasion  of 
trouble,  a  train  of  minor  calamities  followed  Mrs.  Kennard's 
illness,  —  calamities  minor  in  relation  to  Katharine ;  but  to 
the  cook,  who  broke  her  arm  in  an  irregular  descent  down 
the  cellar-stairs,  and  to  the  perfectly  trained  waitress,  whose 
mother  was  attacked  with  paralysis,  Mrs.  Kennard's  illness 
appeared  of  secondary  importance. 

Katharine's  latent  ability  in  household  management  was 
vigorously  aroused  to  action  in  this  exigency,  and  her  first 
venture  into  the  arena  was  by  no  means  across  a  path  of 
roses.  That  enemy  to  womankind  which  lurks  in  every 
singing  tea-kettle  attacked  her  slender  white  wrist  and  left 
a  crimson  badge  of  tyranny  as  Katharine  made  her  mother's 
tea.  And  Mrs.  Allston  found  herself  in  an  embarrassing 
position  when  attempting  to  teach  a  fresh  Hibernian  the  ar- 
tistic touches  in  cookery  of  which  she  herself  had  but  a 
theoretical  knowledge. 


A   GLIMPSE  OF  HAPPINESS.  261 

Her  experiences  were  detailed  to  her  husband ;  for  in 
her  letters  to  him  she  found  refuge  from  weariness,  and  in 
the  remembrance  of  his  life  her  own  anxieties  and  annoy- 
ances dwindled  into  mere  material  upon  which  to  found  let- 
ters that  never  failed  of  cheerfulness.  She  wrote  Robert : 

"  I  am  afraid  that  we  must  abandon  our  course  of  reading 
in  the  same  line  for  the  present,  unless  you  care  to  devote  your 
evenings  to  cook-books,  which  form  my  one  engrossing  study. 

"  Mamma's  illness  may  prove  a  lucky  thing  for  you,  however, 
for  I  've  actually  learned  how  to  teach  another  person  to  make 
delicious  rolls  and  omelettes  and  coffee. 

"  And  as  to  the  delicacies  that  I  prepare  for  mamma,  you 
ought  to  see  the  fond  maternal  pride  in  her  eyes  when  she  as- 
sures herself  that  their  flavor  verifies  the  alluring  appearance  ! 
My  culinary  successes  appeal  to  a  genuine  sentiment  in 
mother's  heart,  as  they  are  tangible  proofs  of  my  Benton  de- 
scent. I  have  settled  one  thing  in  my  future  career,  however  : 
if  I  am  ever  thrown  on  my  own  resources,  I  shall  not  open  a 
boarding-house. 

"  You  can't  know  what  a  relief  it  is  to  me  to  snatch  a  few 
moments  with  you  in  this  way.  Mamma  is  asleep,  and  the 
house  down-stairs,  outside  the  kitchen,  is  deserted  ;  but  don't 
fancy  that  it  looks  as  if  the  mistress  were  ill,  —  I  conscien- 
tiously keep  everything  as  near  mamma's  standard  as  possible. 

"  To-day  there  's  a  wealth  of  lilacs  in  the  library,  —  those 
beautiful  white  lilacs  that  I  remember  you  admire ;  and  in  mam- 
ma's room,  where  I  am  writing,  there  is  the  punch-bowl  filled 
with  lilies-of-the-valley, — but  in  my  room,  dear,  I  have  nar- 
cissus. Mamma  has  no  more  pain  recently,  and  in  her  conva- 
lescence she  takes  such  delight  in  the  flowers  and  the  beautiful 
spring  days.  We  have  so  many  birds  this  year!  In  the  morning 
and  at  evening  we  seem  to  be  surrounded  by  a  network  of  deli- 
cious sound,  —  sound  which  suggests  the  very  essence  of  light 
and  joy. 

"  Mamma  is  waking.  How  I  wish  I  could  see  you  !  But 
it  will  not  be  Ions:  now." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

AN  ADVOCATE  OF  HANGING. 

|S  the  second  half-year  of  Allston's  imprison- 
ment rolled  on,  time  did  seem  to  move  more 
rapidly  ;  the  week-days,  like  all  busy,  monoto- 
nous days,  merged  into  one  another,  and  the 
intervening  Sundays  came  and  went  with  increasing  swift- 
ness. And  time  did  seem  to  expand  the  cramped  quarters 
of  the  cell. 

But  the  deadening  mental  and  moral  influence  of  prison 
life  became  more  evident.  Robert  felt  it  creeping  over 
himself;  he  saw  it  in  the  dulled  faces  of  other  convicts : 
although  occasional  mysterious  flashes  of  intelligence  pass- 
ing between  prisoners  revealed  under  the  impassive  surface 
fires  still  smouldering,  to  break  out,  perhaps,  with  renewed 
violence  when  freedom  brought  its  natural  reaction  from 
arbitrary  and  enforced  restraint. 

Day  after  day  the  prison  pressed  upon  him  the  unan- 
swerable and  startling  questions :  "  What  must  be  the 
moral  effect  of  all  this  forcing,  cramping,  deadening  pro- 
cess? What  kind  of  men  were  likely  to  be  turned  out 
from  this  crushing,  relentless,  indiscriminating  governmental 
machine,  where  the  good  and  the  bad,  the  weak  and  the 
depraved,  the  young  and  the  old,  were  massed  in  together 


AN  ADVOCATE   OF  HANGING.  263 

and  levelled  over  by  a  resistless  plane  ?  What  chance  for 
the  bruised  reed  here  ?  " 

As  spring  advanced,  the  young  consumptive  who  worked 
beside  Allston  grew  paler  and  thinner,  and  went  through 
his  daily  task  under  visible  tension  of  nerve.  Several  times 
Allston  caught  a  glance  from  the  dark  eyes  of  the  younger 
man,  —  a  glance  of  impassioned  pathos,  a  look  that  one 
could  not  forget.  What  tragedy  was  the  secret  of  this 
young  life  ?  What  the  unspoken  entreaty  in  those  eyes  ? 

When  Allston  formulated  this  question  to  his  cell-mate, 
Williams  replied  :  — 

"  Oh !  you  mean  North ;  he  claims  to  be  innocent,  I 
understand.  It 's  a  charge  of  burglary.  He  was  a  bright, 
high-spirited  looking  boy  when  he  come  in,  but  he  's  dying 
fast  enough  now.  Innocent  or  guilty,  he  '11  never  see  the 
outside  of  these  walls,  —  and  he  knows  it  too,  as  any  one 
can  see  by  the  look  of  his  eyes." 

The  shadow  of  this  young,  suffering  existence  fell  across 
the  daily  life  of  Allston  ;  he  never  ceased  to  be  conscious 
of  it  while  at  work,  and  between  the  two  theie  gradually 
developed  a  silent  understanding  and  an  interchange  of 
feeling  not  dependent  on  words.  Each  day  the  glance  of 
the  dark  eyes  was  met  by  a  quick,  responsive  sympathy 
that  never  failed  of  recognition  by  the  one  on  whom  it  was 
bestowed,  although  it  passed  unnoticed  by  the  guard. 

No  change  escaped  Allston  ;  the  shortening  breath,  the 
alternating  hectic  flush  and  lifeless  pallor,  the  increasing 
prominence  and  blueness  of  the  veins  that  seamed  the 
forehead  and  the  thin  hands,  —  all  marked  the  rapid  pro- 
gress of  the  enemy  that  was  consuming  the  young  man's 
life. 

One  morning  in  May,  North's  place  in  the  shop  was 
vacant;  the  following  day  a  stranger  filled  the  vacancy. 
And  when  Allston  knew  that  he  had  seen  Willie  North  for 


264  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

the  last  time,  he  realized  how  strong  this  unvoiced  friend- 
ship had  become  ;  and  for  days  afterwards  he  wondered  if 
this  silent  friend  had  gone  beyond  the  need  of  human  sym- 
pathy, —  wondered  with  no  certainty ;  for  a  convict  appears 
and  disappears  among  his  fellows  only  as  the  machinery  of 
the  prison  moves  him. 

Allston  sometimes  wondered  at  the  change  in  himself,  — 
at  the  patience  and  submission  with  which  he  endured  the 
restraint  and  met  the  exactions  of  prison  discipline.  The 
society  of  Williams  had  soon  ceased  to  be  irksome.  There 
were  broad  lines  of  generosity  and  deep  veins  of  tender- 
ness in  the  older  man.  In  dealing  with  one  whom  he 
suspected  of  dishonest  intentions,  Williams  would  have 
cheated  scrupulously ;  in  dealing  with  one  in  whose  honesty 
he  believed,  he  would  have  been  honesty  itself,  —  in  both 
cases  acting  in  harmony  with  his  ideas  of  even-handed 
justice,  "  an  eye  for  an  eye,  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth." 
He  justified  the  unpremeditated  murder  that  he  had  com- 
mitted, as  man's  natural  right  of  retaliation ;  and  the  life- 
blood  of  the  man  he  had  killed  had  not  quenched  this 
feeling.  So  far  he  had  lived  in  accordance  with  the  in- 
stincts of  a  savage  nature,  generous  or  vindictive  as  he 
encountered  good  or  evil  in  others. 

Allston  studied  these  crude  elements  of  human  nature 
so  frankly  exposed  to  him  with  interest ;  and  it  was  not 
long  before  he  discovered  that  they  were  exercising  an 
influence  upon  himself.  He  began  to  study  his  own  crime 
in  the  light  of  this  other  nature.  The  result  at  first  was 
comforting,  as  he  recognized  the  vast  difference  in  spirit 
between  one  who  would  have  died  to  restore  the  life  he 
had  taken,  and  one  who  was  ready  to  take  life  again.  But 
with  a  fairer  understanding  of  Williams  and  an  appreciation 
of  his  finer  qualities  he  changed  the  basis  of  comparison. 
Not  his  own  inherited  generations  of  Christian  culture, 


AN  ADVOCATE   OF  HANGING.  26$ 

not  his  education  or  the  refinements  of  his  life,  not  the 
influence  of  the  purest  affections,  had  sufficed  to  expurgate 
the  savage  taint  from  his  own  veins.  The  tiger  in  his  blood 
had  lain  dormant  until  its  opportunity  came,  when  instantly 
it  had  dominated  his  whole  nature  in  one  fatal  flash  of 
power.  He  knew  now  that  it  was  there,  and  he  believed 
that  he  should  hold  it  in  check  forever ;  but  was  the  fabled 
alliance  of  Beauty  and  the  Beast  drawn  from  its  counterpart 
in  the  nature  of  man?  He  saw  it  mirrored  in  himself; 
he  saw  it  in  Williams,  —  the  same  elements  in  different 
proportions. 

Allston  lost  something  of  the  sense  of  uselessness  and 
powerlessness  which  had  oppressed  him  when  he  saw  how 
persistently  the  older  man's  starved  mind  turned  to  him  for 
sustenance,  for  help  to  formulate  its  own  crude  ideas,  and 
for  light  on  innumerable  subjects.  The  magazines  and 
newspapers  sent  to  Allston  were  shared  with  his  cell-mate, 
and  various  were  the  subjects  discussed  by  the  two  men. 
Prison-life  had  indeed  assumed  a  new  aspect  to  Williams 
since  the  advent  of  "  the  Colonel,"  —  the  title  by  which  he 
always  designated  Allston. 

One  good  man  only  had  Williams  ever  known,  and  he 
honestly  believed  that  few  existed;  nor  had  the  embodi- 
ment of  the  principles  of  Christianity  into  life  occurred  to 
him  as  a  possibility,  —  in  fact  he  had  not  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  principles  of  Christianity.  Years  before 
he  had  chanced  upon  some  translation  from  Socrates,  and 
one  or  two  Socratic  maxims  of  universal  application  were 
lodged  in  his  brain,  and  prepossessed  him  in  favor  of  all 
"so-called  heathen." 

"I  have  often  wished  the  heathen  would  send  a  few 
missionaries  to  convert  the  Christians.  If  I  was  President 
of  the  United  States,  I  'd  have  a  translation  of  the  teach- 
ings of  Socrates  in  every  school  in  the  land,  and  I  'd  have 


266  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

the  children  read  out  of  it  every  day,  and  give  the  Bible 
a  rest,"  he  said  one  evening. 

"  Do  you  know  how  Socrates  died?"  asked  Allston. 

"  No,  I  don't ;  but  I  s'pose  you  can  tell  me  about  it." 

Allston  told  the  sublime  and  simple  story  of  the  death 
of  the  Greek  martyr. 

"  And  this  was  execution  under  the  laws  of  Greece,"  he 
said  in  conclusion.  "  Think  of  the  dignity  and  -sacredness 
which  they  gave  to  the  close  of  the  life  of  a  condemned 
man  !  Secluded  from  vulgar  and  brutal  curiosity,  the  cup 
of  poison  was  given  into  his  own  hand  ;  and  he  died  pain- 
lessly, surrounded  by  his  own  friends :  sent  from  earth 
because  his  life  was  considered  dangerous,  but  sent  into 
oblivion  reverently,  and  with  a  just  recognition  of  family 
ties  and  affection.  This  was  in  heathen  Greece  ;  and  how 
it  shames  the  Christian  American  methods  of  the  year  of 
our  Lord  1866  !" 

"  Rather  different  from  the  hangings  I  've  been  witness 
of,"  admitted  Williams.  "Those  kind  of  death-penalties 
worked  with  them  good  old  Greeks  ;  but  I  have  my  doubts 
as  to  their  working  with  Americans.  They  would  lack  the 
restraining  influence  of  hangings." 

Allston  was  struck  by  this  current  "  restraining  influence  " 
defence  of  hanging  coming  from  the  lips  of  one  who  was 
a  type  of  the  desperate  class  of  men  against  whom  the 
penalty  was  enforced.  He  who  ought  to  have  been  able 
to  judge  of  its  efficacy  sided  with  the  law  in  opinion,  while 
in  fact  he  was  a  living  refutation  of  the  theory  of  "  deterrent 
effects." 

"  Restraining  influence  !  "  repeated  Allston  emphatically. 
"  You  ought  to  know  better  than  that,  Williams.  Did  you 
think  of  possible  hanging?  Did  I  think  of  it?  Utter  reck- 
lessness is  one  of  the  elements  of  impulsive  murder ;  and 
pre-determined,  cold-blooded  murder  can  only  be  under- 


AN  ADVOCATE   OF  HANGING,  267 

taken  by  men  rendered  insensible  of  danger,  either  through 
a  low  organization,  or  because  the  end  they  have  in  view 
outweighs  all  consideration  of  personal  risk.  The  law- 
makers think :  '  I  should  not  kill  a  man  if  I  knew  I  should 
be  hanged  for  it;'  and  they  think  they  have  settled  the 
question.  Self-protection  or  self-interest  has  slain  its  tens 
of  thousands  to  the  one  murderous  hand  it  has  restrained. 
It  is  not  self-protection,  but  regard  for  the  lives  and  prop- 
erty and  interest  of  others  that  must  be  developed  before 
murders  and  robberies  and  swindles  are  reduced." 

"  I  guess  your  head  's  about  level  there,  Colonel.  I  Ve 
often  thought  that  if  I  could  see  two  men  swap  horses 
without  lying  or  cheating,  I  might  begin  to  believe  in  the 
Millennium.  But  what  would  you  advise  in  the  matter  of 
capital  punishment?  Would  you  get  rid  of  it  altogether, 
and  open  up  a  kind  of  moral  mutual  consideration  nursery 
for  such  cases  as  me?" 

"Not  exactly,"  returned  Allston  frankly.  "I  should 
protect  society.  Assuming  that  a  man  guilty  of  murder  in 
the  first  degree  could  not  safely  be  intrusted  with  liberty, 
I  should  have  his  life  taken  by  the  most  painless  and  simple 
method  science  could  advance.  This  should  be  done  as 
a  necessity,  because  that  man  could  never  be  restored  to 
society  without  risk,  —  not  in  order  to  prevent  other  men 
from  committing  murder.  I  do  not  believe  murder  can  be 
prevented  in  that  way." 

"  Why  not  sentence  him  for  life?  " 

"  Would  you  consider  that  a  merciful  alternative?" 

"No;  better,  a  thousand  times  better,  take  his  life. 
Hanging  would  of  been  nothing  to  what  I  have  gone 
through.  Still,  I  was  terrible  anxious  not  to  be  hung. 
That  would  of  come  hard  on  Violetta ;  but  as  to  myself, 
what 's  five  minutes  of  choking  and  darkness  to  five  or  ten 
or  twenty  year  of  slow  torture  ?  It  is  n't  the  torture  of 


268  ffIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

what  you  have  to  bear  so  much  as  what  you  have  to  go 
without.  You  don't  know  what  it  is,  with  your  sweet- 
smelling  love-letters  coming  every  evening,  and  your  maga- 
zines and  papers ;  but  imagine  you  could  n't  read  or  write, 
like  half  these  fellows,  —  and  many  of  them  has  got  wives 
and  old  mothers,  or  worse  still,  have  n't  got  a  soul  on  earth 
to  think  of  them,  —  and  what  if  never  a  word  or  a  thought 
from  the  outside  got  in  to  you,  just  prison  sights,  and 
prison  sounds,  and  prison  smells,  month  in  and  month  out ; 
and  evenings  likely  a  tormenting  cell-mate,  or  else  to  sit 
alone  and  eat  out  your  heart?  No  wonder  so  many  of 
them  goes  crazy.  I  heard  it  said  that  in  some  of  these 
prisons  life-men  never  keep  their  reason  above  ten  year. 
I  tell  you,  Colonel,  a  man  gets  acquainted  with  suffering 
before  his  brain  gives  way  from  remorse  or  confinement, 
or  the  longing  to  see  his  folks,  or  from  all  put  together. 
Sometimes  I  think  I  know  the  taste  of  the  dregs  of  the  cup 
of  trouble,  till  I  recollect  that  I  have  my  reason,  as  far  as 
a  man  can  judge  of  that  himself.  But  it  was  n't  like  Vio- 
letta  to  take  a  divorce  and  marry  another  man,  as  some 
folks'  wives  does." 

Who  has  reached  that  depth  of  misery  where  sinner  or 
sufferer  cannot  be  seen  below  ? 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

MEN    AND    BROTHERS. 


|NE  radiant  morning  in  June  Katharine  Allston 
awoke  within  the  prison  walls.  She  dressed 
early,  and  was  attracted  to  her  window  by  the 
tramp  of  the  convicts  on  their  way  to  breakfast. 
Who  that  has  once  heard  the  clanking  sound  of  that  lock- 
step  can  ever  forget  it  ?  Down  in  the  yard  below  the  long 
lines  of  men  appeared,  suggesting,  in  their  prison  clothing 
and  sinuous  movement,  immense  serpents ;  and  every  link 
in  the  moving  chain  a  living  human  being.  Immortal?  If 
they  are  to  be  taken  at  the  world's  valuation  of  them,  it  is 
to  be  hoped  not. 

At  supper  the  evening  before,  when  the  long  tables  in  the 
dining-room  were  surrounded  by  an  animated  gathering,  — 
the  warden's  family,  guests,  and  officers  of  the  institution, — 
one  did  not  readily  realize  that  the  cheerful  Warden  House 
itself  existed  only  as  the  keystone  of  the  adjacent  living 
tomb  over  which  it  stood  guard.  Now,  as  the  inmates  of 
this  tomb  poured  out,  they  became  the  only  reality. 

The  intense  absorption  in  which  she  looked  down  upon 
them  rendered  Katharine  oblivious  to  the  fact  that  many  an 
eye,  glancing  from  below  upward,  caught  the  vision  of  the 
fair  and  sorrowful  face,  with  the  soul  in  the  eyes,  resting 
unconsciously  against  the  grating  of  the  window ;  each  one 


2/O  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

who  saw  her  wondered  what  wretch  among  them  was  re- 
sponsible for  the  expression  in  that  face;  nor  did  they 
easily  forget  this  object-lesson  in  what  prisons  mean  to 
women.  Later  they  recognized  the  same  woman's  face  in 
chapel,  with  the  same  absorbed  expression. 

As  Mrs.  Allston  sat  on  the  rostrum  with  the  other  guests 
in  chapel,  and  watched  the  long  procession  of  prisoners  file 
in  and  form  the  solid  congregation,  she  was  taken  com- 
pletely out  of  her  own  consciousness  into  this  strange, 
unnatural  life. 

It  was  a  cloudless  summer's  day,  and  through  the  long 
barred  windows  entered  bands  of  radiant  sunlight,  falling 
across  the  width  of  the  chapel  and  resting  upon  the  men. 
This  June  sunshine  in  a  prison,  was  it  a  benediction,  or  a 
mockery  ? 

"  Oh  !  "  thought  Katharine,  "  why  does  not  the  chaplain 
read  to  them,  — 

" '  What  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June  ?' 

and  take  them  out  of  this  prison  away  into  the  fields  and 
under  the  blue  sky?" 

But  what  is  this  hymn  in  which  these  men,  these  dregs 
of  humanity,  are  joining?  "  We  're  on  the  border-land  of 
heaven."  Was  this,  too,  a  mockery?  The  words  as  they 
fell  upon  Katharine's  ear  produced  an  actual  pain,  they 
seemed  so  false  and  hollow.  Could  these  men  be  accepted 
by  Heaven  while  unfit  for  human  brotherhood  ?  If  not  an 
insult  to  Christianity,  what  a  reflection  upon  man's  course 
towards  man  !  By  a  rapid  transition  it  was  not  the  sea  of 
convict  faces  before  her  that  she  saw,  it  was  three  crosses, 
and  a  self-convicted  thief,  and  that  convict's  cross  truly  the 
border-land  of  heaven,  —  unless  the  story  of  the  crucifixion 
were  falsified.  The  scene  was  still  typical  of  the  different 
attitude  of  God  and  of  man  towards  the  fallen. 


MEN  AND  BROTHERS. 


271 


And  as  the  present  again  asserted  itself,  the  men  were 
singing  the  last  lines  of  their  hymn,  "  We  're  on  the  border- 
land of  heaven,"  while  the  sunshine  lighted  their  faces. 
No,  it  was  not  a  mockery,  but  a  strange,  incongruous  reality. 
The  Christian  religion  had  planted  her  banner  of  hope 
even  in  the  heart  of  a  prison. 

While  the  services  proceeded,  Mrs.  Allston  studied  the 
countenances  of  the  convicts.  Many  of  them  in  their  list- 
less indifference  appeared  to  her  merely  blanks,  untraced 
by  anything  that  could  be  called  character. 

The  majority  of  the  harder  faces  were  among  the  older 
men,  some  of  them  indicating  the  lowest  organization,  brutal 
and  sensual ;  others  bearing  impress  of  repeated  crimes ; 
a  few  looked  recklessly  capable  of  any  atrocity ;  while  others 
sat  wrapped  in  sullen  gloom,  with  downcast  eyes.  Scattered 
among  these  lower  types  were  bright,  intelligent,  manly 
faces  of  self-respecting  men ;  several  were  noticeably  re- 
fined in  appearance,  the  refinement  of  the  face  only 
thrown  into  stronger  relief  by  the  contrast  of  the  coarse 
dress ;  but  the  greater  number  of  the  heads  were  character- 
ized by  receding  foreheads  and  receding  chins,  indicating 
warped  and  stunted  rather  than  perverted  force. 

The  services  were  admirably  conducted.  The  prisoners 
joined  in  singing  the  familiar  hymns  with  evident  enjoy- 
ment of  the  only  occasion  on  which  they  were  allowed  to 
let  out  their  voices. 

It  was  not  the  regular  chaplain,  but  a  dapper  young 
stranger  who  preached  the  sermon,  opening  with  the 
remark  :  "  There  is  probably  not  one  among  you  who  did 
not  learn  to  say  his  prayers  at  his  mother's  knee." 

This  startling  announcement  was  accepted  with  passive 
stolidity  by  the  majority  of  the  congregation,  although  one 
of  the  men  on  the  front  seat  indulged  in  a  sidelong  glance 
and  a  faint,  sarcastic  smile.  However,  as  the  minister  pro- 


2/2  fffS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

ceeded  with  a  sermon  evidently  not  written  for  convicts,  he 
gradually  excited  an  interest  on  the  part  of  the  prisoners, 
who  no  doubt  found  it  refreshing  to  be  addressed  simply  as 
men ;  and  when  at  the  close  of  the  sermon  there  came  an 
argument  in  favor  of  the  love  of  the  Divine  Father  based 
on  the  simple  plea :  "  Seme  of  you  have  little  children : 
look  into  your  own  hearts  and  read  your  feelings  towards 
them,"  many  of  the  men  were  visibly  affected,  and  tears 
coursed  down  more  than  one  of  the  seamed  and  hardened 
faces. 

A  class-meeting  was  held  at  the  close  of  the  service. 
About  fifty  of  the  more  religiously  or  more  hypocritically 
inclined  remained,  a  majority  of  whom  were  colored 
brethren ;  but  there  was  also  many  an  old  face  whose  deep 
lines  of  sin  and  suffering  proclaimed,  "  The  way  of  the 
transgressor  is  hard."  Each  man  was  allowed  to  relate  his 
experience,  although  the  chaplain  gave  warning  that  all 
declarations  of  innocence  tended  to  impair  the  value  of 
testimony.  The  usual  prayer-meeting  commonplace  per- 
sonal remarks  followed,  mechanically  uttered  and  indiffer- 
ently received  in  most  instances;  but  when  one  rough 
and  ignorant  old  man  got  up,  and  with  evident  effort  and 
broken  tones  made  his  simple  confession  of  faith  and  re- 
pentance, a  vibration  of  sympathetic  interest  flashed  over 
the  meeting,  evident  as  the  movement  of  a  wind-swept 
field  of  grain.  Unmistakably,  this  man's  profession  was 
accepted  as  genuine. 

In  striking  contrast  was  a  stout,  complacent  youth  of 
dusky  hue,  with  his  broad  face  wreathed  in  smiles  which 
exhibited  two  rows  of  dazzling  ivories.  He  assured  the 
meeting  that  he  always  had  been,  then  was,  and  ever  should 
be,  a  Christian ;  and  that,  moreover,  he  intended  to  devote 
his  life  to  preaching  when  restored  freedom  allowed  an 
opportunity. 


MEN  AND  BROTHERS.  273 

In  this  connection  the  warden  whispered  to  Mrs.  Allston  ; 
"  That  man  has  been  here  five  times.  He  is  as  sure  to 
come  back  again  as  a  ball  thrown  into  the  air  falls  to  the 
ground.  He  is  a  predestined  thief,  but  good-natured,  and 
buoyant  to  the  last  degree." 

"  Does  the  prison  help  men  to  become  honest?"  Kath- 
arine impulsively  asked.  The  warden  shook  his  head. 

Immediately  after  dinner  Katharine  hastened  away  to 
the  usher's  office  to  meet  her  husband.  Robert  gave  one 
look  into  the  eyes  of  his  wife,  then  drew  her  gently  down 
beside  him,  saying  :  "What  is  it,  dear?  Tell  me  what  has 
hurt  you." 

"  Can  you  read  it  in  my  face?  Oh,  yes  !  I  want  to  tell 
you.  It 's  going  to  mar  our  afternoon,  but  we  can't  help 
that ;  we  don't  want  to  escape  from  what  we  ought  to 
know,  do  we?"  and  she  clung  to  him  trembling.  He 
soothed  her  as  though  she  were  a  frightened  child. 

"  Perhaps  what  you  have  been  learning  will  not  seem  so 
dreadful  after  you  have  talked  it  over  with  me.  You  have 
on  your  wedding-dress,  dear,  have  n't  you  ?  Every  fold  in 
it  is  like  a  poem  to  me  ;  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  in  it  again. 
But  where  are  your  blush-roses  ?  " 

His  arm  was  around  her  waist,  and  her  head  rested 
against  his  breast,  when  she  related  the  cause  of  her  dis- 
turbance. 

"  I  went  into  the  hospital  after  chapel  service  this  morn- 
ing. Mother  rather  objected  to  my  accepting  the  warden's 
invitation  to  go  there ;  but  I  told  her  there  was  no  use  in 
my  trying  to  shut  my  eyes  or  to  turn  back  now,  I  must 
go  on  into  this  life. 

"  The  moment  that  I  saw  the  faces  of  the  men  in  the 
hospital,  I  felt  so  sorry  for  them,  and  I  asked  the  warden 
if  he  would  leave  me  there  for  an  hour.  He  smiled  in  his 

18 


2/4  ffls  BROKEN  SWORD. 

peculiar  gentle  fashion,  told  the  doctor  to  allow  me  the 
freedom  of  the  wards,  and  departed. 

"  And  then  I  went  up  to  a  listless  group  of  three  men. 
One,  an  old  Irishman  distorted  out  of  all  regular  shape  with 
rheumatism,  gave  me  an  oddly  pathetic  and  grotesque 
smile  of  welcome ;  another,  who  was  a  mere  boy,  had  the 
most  expressionless  face,  —  as  if  it  had  been  made  of  putty, 
and  smoothed  over  when  it  was  soft ;  the  third  immediately 
offered  me  his  chair. 

"  After  a  few  general  remarks  to  the  poor  warped  crea- 
ture and  the  blank-faced  youth,  I  turned  to  the  other  man 
who  had  seated  himself  near  me.  I  can't  tell  you  what  an 
impression  of  dignity  he  gave  me.  He  was  young,  with  a 
well-formed  head  and  strikingly  regular  features,  with 
fearless  eyes,  and  a  quiet  force  of  utterance  when  he  spoke. 
I  should  have  noticed  him  anywhere.  I  wonder  now  that 
I  dared  question  him  as  I  did,  and  I  wonder  more  that  he 
answered  my  questions ;  but  I  opened  a  regular  catechism, 
and  our  dialogue  was  something  like  this  :  — 

" '  What  are  you  here  for? ' 

" '  Burglary.' 

" '  Were  you  sentenced  justly  ?  ' 

"'Yes.' 

" '  Were  you  ever  in  prison  before  ? ' 

"  '  Yes.    This  is  the  second  conviction  for  burglary.' 

" '  Were  you  guilty  before  ? ' 

" '  Yes.' 

" '  Shall  you  follow  the  calling  of  a  burglar  when  you  are 
released  ? ' 

"  *  When  I  was  released  last  time,  I  tried  to  get  work ; 
but  the  war  was  over,  and  the  country  flooded  with  men  out 
of  employment.  The  proverb  says,  "  War  makes  thieves, 
and  peace  hangs  them."  I  could  n't  find  any  way  to  make 
a  living  honestly,  and  so  I  tried  dishonesty.  When  I  am 


MEN  AND  BROTHERS.  2?$ 

free  again  I  shall  work  if  I  can  find  work ;   if  I  can't  get 
work,  I  shall  steal.     The  world  owes  me  a  living.' 

"  What  could  I  answer  to  that  condensed  assertion  of  the 
natural  rights  of  man,  Robert?" 
"  What  did  you  answer  ?  " 

"  I  said, '  In  your  place  I  should  probably  feel  as  you  do.' " 
"  That 's  good.  He  believed  in  you  then  ?  " 
"  I  hope  he  did.  He  replied  with  another  apt  proverb, 
'  It 's  easy  to  keep  the  castle  that  never  was  besieged ; '  and 
then,  as  the  other  men  moved  away  and  left  us  alone,  he 
gave  me  the  outlines  of  his  story  in  the  fewest  possible 
words.  It  seems  that  at  fourteen  he  ran  away  from  home, 
from  a  step-father  who  quarrelled  with  his  mother  on  his 
account.  He  found  work  on  a  Mississippi  river- boat ;  but 
he  said  it  was  a  terrible  place  for  a  boy,  and  he  learned 
nothing  but  evil  for  the  time  he  was  there.  At  last  he  had 
a  quarrel  with  one  of  the  men  and  lost  his  place ;  and  to 
avenge  this  injury,  'to  get  even  with  the  man  who  had 
injured  him,'  he  said,  he  stole  this  man's  money  and  again 
ran  away.  After  he  felt  himself  already  a  criminal  he  kept 
on  stealing.  He  told  me  that  he  had  been  a  very  bad  man, 
and  had  given  trouble  in  prison.  He  knew  that  he  was  in 
consumption  and  likely  to  die.  He  has  lost  all  trace  of  his 
mother,  and  receives  no  letters ;  and  so  I  asked  him  to  write 
to  me.  And  then  —  I  don't  remember  a  word  that  I  said  ; 
but  I  spoke  to  him  of  his  ruined  past  and  his  uncertain 
future,  and  of  individual  responsibility.  He  listened  in  at- 
tentive silence,  and  when  I  paused  he  looked  at  me  so 
seriously  out  of  his  deep  gray  eyes,  and  he  said  :  '  I  can't 
promise  to  be  a  good  man,  my  past  makes  that  impos- 
sible ;  but  I  want  to  promise  you  that  I  will  give  up  swear- 
ing, and  will  try  and  have  pure  thoughts.'  " 

Robert  kissed  his  wife  very  tenderly  just  at  that  point  of 
the  story.    "  I  don't  wonder  that  he  said  that  to  you,  Katie ; 


2/6  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

I  don't  wonder  that  you  made  him  feel  that  he  wanted 
to  make  you  just  that  offering  of  a  pure  heart.  And  then 
what  did  you  say?" 

"  Why,  I  was  so  surprised  and  sort  of  touched  that  I 
involuntarily  answered,  '  Thank  you  ! '  And  I  told  him  that 
I  wanted  him  to  feel  that  I  should  never  think  of  him  as  a 
convict,  but  as  a  man ;  and  he  said  that  he  knew  that,  with- 
out my  assurance  of  it." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  that  man  tell  the  story  of  this  visit. 
Who  was  he  ?  " 

"  He  gave  his  name  as  Bruce  Downing." 

"  And  so  it  is  Bruce  Downing's  fate  that  has  clouded  your 
eyes  to-day  ?  " 

"  Not  that  alone.  For  all  my  sympathy  with  the  man, 
his  fate  seems  the  natural  result  of  his  life.  He  had  cer- 
tainly thrown  away  his  right  to  liberty ;  I  think  he  felt  that 
too.  As  I  left  Downing  to  go  down-stairs,  my  attention 
was  attracted  by  a  clear-cut,  delicate  pale  face  looking  at 
me  with  an  expression  that  invited  recognition ;  and  I 
paused  beside  him  with  the  stupid  question :  '  Are  you 
getting  better?' 

"  '  Do  you  think  I  look  as  if  I  could  ever  be  better  ?  '  he 
asked  with  feverish  eagerness. 

"I  did  not  answer  this,  but  sat  down  beside  him  and 
told  him  my  name ;  and  when  I  said  '  Allston,'  his  whole 
face  lighted,  and  he  told  me  that  he  worked  beside  you  in 
the  shop  for  a  long  time.  He  seemed  to  have  taken  the 
greatest  fancy  to  you,  and  had  heard  something  of  our  story 
through  the  chaplain  or  the  usher;  he  was  so  evidently 
interested  and  pleased  to  meet  your  wife  that  I  began  to 
feel  as  if  I  had  met  an  old  friend.  He  looked  so  very  ill 
that  I  wondered  at  his  bright  animation.  But  when  I  rose 
to  go,  his  face  changed  instantly ;  and  when  he  took  my 
hand  as  I  said  good-bye,  he  looked  up  with  such  an  agony 


MEN  AND  BROTHERS. 


277 


of  despair,  —  such  passionate  entreaty  in  his  great  black 
eyes,  —  it  seemed  as  if  a  curtain  had  been  thrown  back, 
and  I  saw  right  into  his  soul.  It  was  such  an  appeal  for 
help,  —  as  if  a  drowning  man  were  reaching  for  a  hand  to 
save  him. 

" '  Is  there  anything  in  the  world  that  I  can  do  for  you  ? ' 
I  asked. 

" '  No,  nothing,'  he  answered  hopelessly,  dropping  his 
eyes ;  I,  too,  knew  that  what  he  wanted  I  could  not  give. 
'  I  do  so  long  to  be  out  of  this  dreadful  convict  dress,  to  be 
free  at  least  to  die  like  a  man,'  he  added  wearily.  And  then 
he  looked  up  at  me  again  with  such  earnestness,  I  can't 
tell  you,  Robert,  and  said  :  '  /  am  innocent.  I  want  you  to 
believe,  and  to  tell  your  husband,  that  I  am  innocent.' 

" '  You  are  innocent  / '  I  exclaimed ;  for  that  thought  had 
not  occurred  to  me. 

"  And  then  the  doctor  came,  and  said  that  he  must  go  to 
dinner ;  and  I  could  only  press  that  dying  man's  hand  and 
assure  him  that  I  did  believe  in  his  innocence. 

"As  we  left,  the  doctor  told  me  that  the  poor  fellow, 
whom  he  called  Willie  North,  might  die  any  day,  or  might 
last  for  weeks.  They  have  sent  for  his  friends,  and  a  par- 
don is  expected  every  day ;  but  both  pardon  and  friends 
may  come  too  late.  All  through  dinner  I  could  see  noth- 
ing but  his  eyes.  I  felt  as  if  I  should  scream  if  I  let  go  of 
myself  for  a  moment.  Oh,  Robert,  Robert,  how  terrible 
it  is,  and  how  hard  it  is  to  understand  !  "  and  burying 
her  face  against  her  husband,  she  let  the  hot  tears  flow 
unchecked. 

"  It  is  hard  for  you  to  know  all  this,"  he  said,  caressing 
her  shining  hair ;  and  then  he  told  her  how  his  own  sym- 
pathies were  enlisted  for  this  same  Willie  North,  and  how 
strong  was  his  intuitive  confidence  in  the  boy. 

"  I  believe  that  he  is  innocent,  since  he  says  that  he  is. 


278  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

I  should  believe  anything  that  he  told  me,"  Robert  said ; 
and  then  he  added  :  "  Katie,  think  a  moment.  If  Willie 
North  is  to  die  here,  is  n't  it  infinitely  better  that  he  dies 
innocent  than  guilty?  Be  sure  that  somewhere,  deep  in 
his  heart,  he  too  feels  this." 

"  Better  for  him,  yes  ;  but  such  a  dreadful  wrong !  To 
imprison  one  who  is  innocent  until  he  dies  !  Is  n't  that  the 
blackest  of  crimes?  And  yet,  who  but  the  victim  is  going 
to  suffer  for  that?  Is  n't  there  anything  that  I  can  do  for 
him?" 

"Write  him  one  of  your  sweet  and  courageous  notes 
when  you  get  home.  It  is  a  little  thing,  but  it  breaks  the 
sense  of  desolation." 

"  And  I  '11  tell  him  that  you  do  believe  in  him  and  in 
his  innocence." 

Katharine  never  knew  how  it  was  that  her  husband  won 
her  thought  away  from  the  prison  and  its  inmates;  but 
when  Mrs.  Kennard  joined  them  half  an  hour  later,  she 
found  the  two  quite  in  a  world  of  their  own. 

After  greeting  Robert  cordially,  and  studying  him  for  a 
while  with  a  puzzled  expression,  Mrs.  Kennard  remarked 
impressively :  "  Well,  Robert,  I  see  you  are  Colonel  Allston 
still." 

"  Thank  you ;  and  I  can  return  the  compliment  to  my 
mother-in-law  by  assuring  her  that  she  has  come  out  from 
her  long  illness  as  beautiful  as  ever." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  Mrs.  Kennard  answered  with  a 
pleased  and  conscious  flush,  for  she  had  always  been  very 
fond  of  her  own  beauty ;  but  she  turned  the  compliment 
by  saying  :  "  If  I  'm  looking  well,  it  is  only  a  tribute  to  your 
wife's  splendid  nursing." 

"  I  forgot  to  tell  you,"  said  Katharine,  showing  her  dim- 
ple, "  that  I  am  responsible  for  the  improvement  in 
mother's  appearance." 


MEN  AND  BROTHERS. 


279 


"  Katie,"  said  her  husband  when  Mrs.  Kennard  had  left 
them  for  the  close  of  their  interview,  "  I  want  you  to  prom- 
ise to  do  something  for  me." 

"Yes?" 

"  I  want  you  to  begin  practising  duets  with  Dora  Criss- 
field.  You  need  more  music  in  your  life  ;  you  are  looking 
too  spirituelle.  I  am  afraid  your  soul  is  absorbing  your 
body ;  and  some  day  when  I  go  to  take  you  in  my  arms  I 
shall  find  that  you  are  only  the  shadow  of  my  wife.  But 
don't  play  nervous,  morbid  music,  or  slow  minor  move- 
ments. Don't  touch  that  heart-breaking  Melodic  Irlandaise. 
Do  you  remember  that  sunny,  rippling  little  piece  that  Mrs. 
Vandyne  played  the  last  time  we  were  at  the  Brentanos'  ?  " 

"  I  remember  Dora's  asking,  '  What  is  that  charming 
thing  with  that  drapery  of  gossamer  mus  — '  " 

"  Yes,  that 's  the  one.  You  must  learn  that,  and  play 
Mendelssohn  ;  and  what 's  that  magnificent,  inspiring 
Beethoven  sonata?" 

"Oh  !  you  mean  that  tremendously  difficult  Opus  106, — 
that  would  last  me  until  you  come  home  !  I  '11  tell  you 
what  I  shall  play  every  day:  'He  of  all  the  best,  the 
noblest.'  And  I  suppose  you  want  me  to  look  at  the  lake 
only  when  the  sky  is  blue  above  it,  to  read  the  '  Pickwick 
Papers/  and  to  plan  new  dresses.  I  understand  what  you 
mean,  dear,  and  will  try  to  do  as  you  wish." 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

MR.  AND  MRS.  SMITH. 

N  Katharine's  next  letter  Robert  saw  how  she 
had  caught  the  spirit  of  his  wish  and  acted 
upon  it  without  delay,  for  she  wrote  :  — 

"I  have  not  forgotten  Willie  North's  eyes, —  I  never  shall 
forget  them ;  but  I  am  not  going  to  let  myself  think  about 
them.  This  morning  I  sent  him  a  box  of  the  most  beautiful 
flowers,  among  them  a  perfect  stem  of  the  lovely  Annunciation 
Lily,  with  buds  that  will  open  and  last  for  days  to  come  ;  and 
with  them  I  sent  a  note. 

"  And  then  after  dinner,  as  there  was  a  sort  of  empty  and 
melancholy  feeling  in  my  heart  (I  am  afraid  I  wanted  to  see 
you),  I  obediently  went  up  to  Dora's. 

"  While  I  stood  on  the  doorstep,  I  could  hear  her  playing 
that  exquisite  and  brilliant  Chopin  Ballade  in  A  flat.  Of 
course  she  was  oblivious  to  everything,  door-bells  included ; 
and  I  went  up  the  stairs  and  listened  unnoticed  in  her  open 
door  as  she  went  on,  through  where  the  delicious,  caressing 
movement  develops  into  that  superb,  rushing  climax,  which 
she  played  splendidly.  How  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  it ! 

"  As  she  struck  the  final  chord,  I  slipped  across  the  room 
and  clasped  my  hands  over  her  eyes  and  kissed  her;  and  she 
exclaimed  instantly:  'Those  are  the  little  paws  of  my  own 
kitten!' 


MR.  AND  MRS.  SMITH.  28 1 

"  Then  I  gave  her  an  account  of  my  visit  to  the  prison,  —  all 
but  about  Willie  North  ;  I  did  not  want  to  speak  of  him  :  and 
I  told  her  that  you  wanted  me  to  become  more  material,  and 
had  sent  her  a  commission  to  amuse  me. 

'"I  cannot  be  as  funny  as  I  dare,'  she  began,  after  her 
manner  of  inverting  quotations.  But  looking  into  her  laugh- 
ing eyes,  I  could  see  that  she  was  thinking  of  something  that 
amused  her ;  and  forthwith  she  told  me  of  meeting  that 
pretty  little  butterfly  Mrs.  Elamsford  and  her  sister  yesterday. 
This  happened  in  the  street,  where  they  stopped  for  a  mo- 
ment's chat,  near  some  blooming  locust-trees.  Mrs.  Elams- 
ford remarked  the  beauty  of  the  trees,  and  said :  '  You  know 
Tennyson  has  a  poem,  "The  Locust-Eaters.'" 

"  Her  sister  nervously  corrected,  '  You  mean  the  "  Lotos- 
Eaters."  ' 

"  '  That  is  a  distinction  without  a  difference,'  Mrs.  Elams- 
ford retorted,  with  her  bland  and  lofty  little  smile. 

"It  takes  Dora's  inimitable  manner  to  do  her  stories  jus- 
tice ;  but  I  '11  continue  with  her  next. 

"  This  morning,  while  waiting  for  a  music-pupil  in  the 
adjoining  room,  she  overheard  this  bit  of  dialogue  between 
two  ladies  :  — 

" '  Are  you  going  to  see  "  Romeo  and  Juliet  "  this  evening  ?  ' 

"'No,  I  never  go  to  hear  Shakspeare's  tragedies;  they  all 
end  so  bad? 

" « All  but  the  "  Merchant  of  Venice."  ' 

"Dora  said  that  the  innocent  seriousness  of  the  two  was 
delicious.  Being  in  the  Shakspearian  line,  she  produced  from 
her  pocket  what  she  called  a  neat  little  piece  of  newspaper 
reporting,  to  this  effect :  '  Mr.  Diggs  appeared  at  the  mas- 
querade party  in  the  character  of  Mephistophilius,  from  Shak- 
speare's well-known  play,  "  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor."  ' 
Dora  thought  it  looked  hopeful  that '  Mephistophilius  '  was 
recognized  as  an  imaginary,  and  not  taken  for  an  historical 
character. 

"  At  the  tea-table  I  aired  Dora's  anecdotes  for  the  benefit 
of  father  and  mother,  and  here  I  have  detailed  them  to  you. 
I  have  done  my  best  to  be  amused  and  to  be  amusing. 


282  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

"  Papa  agrees  with  you  that  I  am  not  looking  well,  and  I 
am  to  be  sent  off  away  from  home  soon,  —  perhaps  to  see  Mrs. 
Smith  and  '  Jim,'  as  Mrs.  Smith  has  written  a  moving  entreaty 
for  my  society." 

Not  long  after,  Mrs.  Allston  went  to  Mrs.  Smith,  "  im- 
molated in  the  wilds  of  Iowa." 

Mrs.  Smith  had  revived  the  familiar  use  of  her  girlhood 
name  by  bestowing  an  equal  division  of  it  upon  the 
twins,  Eleanor  and  Beverly,  whose  presence  dominated  the 
home. 

"Behold  the  roses  that  have  blossomed  in  my  wilder- 
ness ! "  Mrs.  Smith  had  said,  flushing  with  motherly  pride 
and  affection  as  she  presented  the  twins  to  Katharine ;  and 
from  that  moment  the  babies  were  everywhere,  at  all  times, 
and  formed  the  engrossing  topic  of  conversation.  When 
the  ladies  went  for  the  daily  morning  drive  in  the  phaeton, 
each  carried  a  child  in  her  lap,  and  the  four  alike  were 
given  over  to  infantile  nonsense.  Mrs.  Smith  insisted  on 
having  a  tin-type  group  taken,  —  Iowa  photographs  at  that 
time  were  not  to  be  regarded  with  complacency;  and 
Robert  Allston  was  consequently  the  recipient  of  a  quartet 
in  which  Mrs.  Smith  and  Mrs.  Allston  appeared  in  pictur- 
esque, broad-brimmed  sun-hats,  while  in  the  lap  of  each 
lady  reposed  a  twin,  the  most  prominent  feature  of  the 
picture  being  a  row  of  four  feet,  colossal  in  proportion  to 
the  size  of  the  children  to  whom  they  belonged. 

The  twins  monopolized  a  large  place  in  Katharine's 
letters  to  her  husband  ;  but  Mr.  Smith  was  not  neglected  in 
these  epistles.  Katharine  wrote  :  — 

"  He  is  the  most  delightful  creature,  and  in  his  way  no  less 
interesting  than  his  wife.  He  is  large  and  blond,  the  very 
embodiment  of  affectionate  amiability,  thoroughly  permeated 
with  quiet  humor;  and  he  speaks  in  a  low,  gentle  drawl,  de- 
void of  all  emphasis,  and  never  indulges  in  superlatives. 


MR.   AND  MRS.   SMITH.  283 

"The  only  time  I  have  seen  Mrs.  Smith  ruffled  was  this 
morning,  when  she  came  into  the  dining-room  and  discovered 
by  the  glaring  light  that  her  husband  had  been  trimming  the 
grape-vine  which  shaded  an  east  window,  and  had  bereft  the 
vine  of  nearly  all  its  leaves,  in  order,  he  said,  to  ripen  the  grapes. 
Mrs.  Smith  was  very  vigorous  in  her  condemnation  of  this 
course,  and  made  some  rather  exasperating  comments,  all  of 
which  her  husband  accepted  with  a  soft,  deprecating  smile ; 
but  he  excused  himself  from  the  table  before  breakfast  was 
over.  A  few  moments  after,  Mrs.  Smith  began  to  shake  with 
laughter,  and  pointed  to  the  window;  and  behold  Mr.  Smith 
with  a  ball  of  string,  carefully  tying  the  leaves  back  on  the 
vine,  apparently  oblivious  of  observers !  When  he  had  ef- 
fected a  temporary  shade,  he  suddenly  parted  the  leaves  and 
looked  through  them  at  his  wife  with  a  propitiatory  smile  that 
would  have  softened  Calvin  himself.  Mrs.  Smith  seems 
younger  and  less  responsible  than  ever,  and  plays  with  the 
children  exactly  as  a  child  amuses  herself  with  her  dolls ; 
although  Beverly  and  Eleanor  never  are  neglected,  and  the 
maternal  friskiness  is  counterbalanced  by  the  staid  solemnity 
of  the  middle-aged  nurse,  who  maintains  strict  vigilance  over 
the  mamma  as  well  as  the  twins." 

One  of  Katharine's  letters  contained  an  enclosure  from 
the  pen  of  Mrs.  Smith.  The  note  began :  — 

"  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  warn  you  that  your  wife  is  becoming 
frightfully  demoralized  under  my  roof.  She  came  here  looking 
fragile  as  thistle-down ;  but  she  is  gaining  a  truly  plebeian  color. 
Her  elegant  and  dignified  style  of  deportment  is  completely 
undermined.  Only  yesterday  I  found  her  actually  seated  up- 
on the  floor  with  her  lap  full  of  hair-pins,  and  her  beautiful 
hair  unloosed,  and  my  angelic  cherubs  cavorting  beneath  it  as 
under  a  tent.  She  has  ceased  to  think ;  she  no  longer  reads 
anything  but  Mother  Goose;  and  — would  you  believe  it  ?  — 
she  indulges  in  soda-water  and  peanuts ! 

"  One  deeper  depth,  one  wilder  revelry  still  remains  :  she 
has  not  yet  penetrated  the  village  'ice-cream  saloon,'  upon 


284  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

whose  sign  ice-incrusted  letters  sparkle  against  a  ground  of 
mazarine  blue.  It  is  my  husband,  my  own  adorable,  incor- 
rigible Jim,  who  is  responsible  for  her  aberrations  ;  and  there 
is  no  knowing  how  far  she  may  be  led  astray.  Strange  to  say, 
this  miscreant  preserves  all  her  charm,  even  in  the  act  of  vio- 
lating my  severe  Bostonian  theories  of  decorum.  She  has 
quite  bewitched  the  gentlemen  of  my  family:  Mr.  Smith's 
benign  countenance  fairly  radiates  with  admiration  when  he 
gazes  upon  her ;  and  my  son  Beverly  is  her  hopeless  captive, 
and  frequently  embraces  her  with  an  impassioned  ardor  that  is 
fatal  to  the  symmetrical  arrangement  of  her  hair." 

This  little  off-hand  burlesque  sketch  of  Katharine's  di- 
versions in  Iowa,  and  the  effect  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith's 
influence,  was  worth  more  to  Robert  Allston  than  pages  of 
sympathetic  consolation.  He  liked  to  think  of  Katharine 
entering  into  these  novel  performances  with  genuine  girlish 
enjoyment,  and  her  own  letters  gave  evidence  that  the 
strain  under  which  she  had  been  living  was  yielding  to  a 
healthy  relaxation.  The  sojourn  in  Babyland  did  her  a 
world  of  good,  and  long  after  her  return  to  Milwaukee  the 
Mother  Goose  jingles  echoed  through  her  more  serious 
thoughts. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 


THE  FATE  OF  WILLIE  NORTH. 

"  O  prisoned  soul  that  may  not  see  the  sun  I 
O  voice  that  never  may  be  comforted  1 
You  cannot  break  the  web  that  Fate  has  spun, 
Out  of  your  world  are  light  and  gladness  fled." 

CHANGE  in  railroad  time  gave  Mrs.  Allston  a 
longer  interval  between  trains  when  she  next 
visited  her  husband.  A  patient  in  a  critical 
condition  required  her  father's  presence  in 
Milwaukee,  and  this  time  she  went  to  the  prison  alone, 
going  directly  to  the  usher's  office,  where  she  met  Mr. 
Mclntyre.  She  felt  very  much  at  home  with  this  old 
gentleman  j  every  one  throughout  the  prison  felt  at  home 
with  him.  He  knew  more  of  the  unseen  side  of  the 
prisoners'  life  than  even  the  chaplain.  His  views  on  the 
prison  were  very  radical ;  he  knew  the  convicts  simply  as 
men,  ignoring  completely  all  such  terms  as  "  criminal 
classes."  One  felt  the  spring  of  genial  humanity  that 
flowed  beneath  his  caustic  manner. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  all  your  time  to-day?" 
he  asked  Mrs.  Allston. 

"  Might  I  talk  with  you  for  a  few  moments?    I  'd  like  to 
see  my  husband  for  the  last  half  hour." 


286  ff/S  BROKEN  SWORD. 

"  Talk  with  me  all  you  please,  and  I  '11  take  you  over  to 
the  hospital  if  you  like." 

"  Thank  you ;  but  I  do  not  care  to  go  there  this  time. 
When  I  was  here  in  June  I  met  a  young  man  named 
North  at  the  hospital.  He  was  dying,  and  he  said  that 
he  was  innocent.  Did  he  live  to  get  his  pardon  and  get 
home?" 

"  He  was  innocent ;  he  died  here.  The  people  that 
sent  him  here  have  got  something  to  answer  for  in  eternity. 
When  I  was  a  young  man  in  Scotland  I  heard  Chalmers 
preach  a  sermon  before  the  Scotch  assizes.  He  predicted 
that  at  the  bar  of  Heaven  many  a  judge  would  find  himself 
condemned  by  the  very  judgment  he  had  passed  upon 
ignorant  and  downtrodden  men  who  by  crime  had  re- 
volted against  misery  and  want.  I  have  remembered  that 
for  forty  years." 

"How  can  such  things  happen?  How  do  you  know 
that  North  was  innocent?" 

"  I  always  knew  it.  No  man  who  looked  into  that  boy's 
face  when  he  came  here  could  have  honestly  believed  that 
he  was  a  burglar  and  a  liar.  He  was  just  past  eighteen  when 
he  came,  as  clean  and  bright  and  honest  a  looking  boy  as 
I  ever  saw.  He  hoped  for  a  speedy  release,  and  expected 
every  one  to  believe  him  when  he  said  he  was  innocent ; 
but  no  one,  unless  it  was  the  chaplain  and  myself,  did  be- 
lieve him.  After  a  while  he  understood  this,  and  knew  he 
was  thought  to  be  lying ;  that  hurt  him,  and  it  goaded  him. 
His  people  were  paying  a  lawyer  to  get  him  pardoned. 
Week  after  week  he  looked  for  news  from  Madison ;  he  was 
always  looking  for  a  letter.  When  two  or  three  years  had 
passed  he  began  to  show  a  change.  He  lost  his  expression 
of  hope ;  he  did  n't  say  any  more  about  being  innocent, 
but  settled  down  into  a  sort  of  grim  endurance  of  his  fate. 
Then  he  began  to  lose  flesh  and  to  cough,  and  instead  of 


THE  FATE   OF  WILLIE  NORTH.  28/ 

the  old  cheerful  spirit  there  came  a  hunted  look  into  his 
eyes,  —  a  look  of  fear. 

"  Some  two  years  and  more  ago  another  prisoner  was 
brought  here  and  put  in  the  cell  next  North.  This  man's 
name  was  Jackson ;  he  was  a  professional,  —  a  thief  and  a 
liar.  One  night  I  happened  to  be  in  the  cell-house,  and 
stopped  to  speak  to  Jackson,  and  North  gave  one  of  his 
hollow  coughs,  easily  heard  in  the  adjoining  cell. 

" '  Who  's  that  young  fellow  dying  in  there  ?  '  Jackson 
asked  me.  And  when  I  said  it  was  Will  North,  he  asked 
where  he  was  from  ;  and  I  told  him  what  I  knew.  Jackson 
paled  and  flushed,  and  altogether  acted  in  a  singular  way ; 
and  suddenly  he  caught  hold  of  me  in  great  agitation  and 
whispered  :  '  He  's  innocent ;  I  done  that  job  of  burglary.' 
I  believed  him,  and  advised  him  to  do  the  square  thing 
and  own  up  soon,  or  it  would  be  too  late.  The  next  week 
I  was  summoned  to  the  warden's  office,  and  told  that 
Jackson  wished  to  make  a  confession,  and  wanted  me  as 
witness. 

"  Jackson,  a  great  vigorous  Irishman,  came  in.  His  face 
was  white  as  a  sheet,  and  his  lips  were  set.  He  was  sworn 
by  a  notary,  and  then  made  a  clear  statement,  taking  the 
responsibility  of  the  burglary,  and  giving  details  as  to  how 
it  was  done,  and  how  he  escaped.  He  had  never  seen 
North  before  he  came  here,  and  did  not  remember  the 
name  of  the  man  who  was  convicted ;  indeed  he  said  that 
he  lost  trace  of  the  case,  as  he  left  the  State  at  once.  But 
he  marched  next  North  in  the  gang,  and  had  been  singu- 
larly impressed  by  his  face,  and  heard  him  cough  at  night ; 
and  altogether  he  suffered  terrible  remorse  when  he  under- 
stood that  North  was  his  victim." 

"  Did  n't  they  send  that  statement  right  to  the  Governor, 
and  was  it  not  enough  to  bring  about  North's  release?" 
asked  Mrs.  Allston  with  excitement. 


288  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

"  In  common-sense  and  justice  it  should  have  been. 
North  burst  into  tears  when  he  heard  of  Jackson's  confes- 
sion, and  sent  the  most  grateful  message  through  me.  He 
thought  his  liberty  was  a  sure  thing  then.  But  common- 
sense  and  justice  don't  run  criminal  affairs ,  —  I  can  tell  you 
that,  Mrs.  Allston.  The  statement  was  sent  right  on  to 
North's  lawyer.  But  the  story  got  into  the  papers ;  those 
who  did  not  call  Jackson  a  crank  said  that  the  confession 
was  all  arranged  between  two  criminals :  the  usual  lot 
of  trash  was  printed  and  believed.  Now,  there 's  no  doubt 
that  there's  greater  inhumanity  in  the  average  criminal 
than  in  the  average  individual  in  the  outside  community; 
but  the  aggregate  of  the  average  inhumanity  in  the  com- 
munity is  powerful  and  cruel,  it  conquers  and  wrongs  as 
no  individual  can  conquer  and  wrong.  It  was  just  this 
that  worked  against  these  two  men,  killing  the  one  and 
hardening  the  other  morally  as  his  course  of  crime  had 
never  hardened  him. 

"  North's  lawyer  took  the  confession,  but  he  could  not 
work  up  outside  proof  to  substantiate  it.  Jackson's  term 
expired  the  fifth  of  last  June.  He  went  directly  to  the 
place  where  the  burglary  was  committed,  arid  faced  an  old 
indictment  and  established  his  own  guilt  and  North's  in- 
nocence beyond  all  question.  North  died  the  twentieth  of 
June.  His  pardon  came  the  next  day.  Jackson  was  sent 
back  here  for  fifteen  years  on  the  old  indictment.  He 
told  me  that  after  his  confession  he  prayed  every  day  of  his 
life  for  North's  release,  and  vowed  that  his  own  life  should 
be  spotless  hereafter  if  Heaven  would  restore  liberty  and  life 
to  North.  You  know  how  his  prayers  were  answered.  He 
is  the  hardest  man  in  the  prison  now,  —  the  most  sincere 
atheist  I  ever  knew.  It  is  n't  Heaven  that  is  responsible,  it 
is  man ;  and  not  the  dangerous  criminal,  but  the  average 
minister  of  justice  in  this  our  so-called  Christian  civilization. 


THE  FATE   OF  WILLIE  NORTH.  289 

"  It 's  a  dreadful  thing  to  have  a  son  brutally  killed  out- 
right, cut  down  suddenly  in  the  full  strength  of  manhood. 
But  what  is  it  to  have  a  son  gradually  murdered,  through 
six  years  of  torment  of  soul  and  body,  —  branded  with  crime  ; 
powerless,  humiliated,  smarting  under  an  unutterable  sense 
of  wrong ;  with  all  the  passions  of  youth,  the  natural  desires 
for  companionship  and  pleasure  crushed  and  starved,  until 
the  proud  young  spirit  is  broken  and  the  vigorous  young 
body  succumbs  to  disease.  This  administration  of  justice, 
what  does  it  amount  to  ?  When  an  innocent  man  is  con- 
victed of  guilt,  there  must  be  uncertainty  of  proof;  and  of 
all  the  deadly,  irreparable  wrongs,  the  imprisonment  of  an 
innocent  man  is  the  blackest.  It  would  not  happen  so 
often  as  it  does,  except  that  in  the  average  man  the  desire 
to  avenge  a  wrong  is  stronger  than  the  desire  to  secure 
justice." 

"  How  could  Willie  North's  mother  live  and  bear  this  ?  " 

"  His  mother?  She  did  not  escape  so  easily  as  he  did," 
Mr.  Mclntyre  replied  with  a  grim  smile.  "  Women  are 
tough,  you  know.  His  mother  has  lived  on ;  she  was  taken 
to  an  insane  asylum  two  weeks  after  they  gave  back  to  her 
the  dead  body  of  her  murdered  son.  Some  one  must  suf- 
fer for  every  murder,  you  know ;  and  in  this  case  it  was  the 
old  mother." 

Katharine's  eyes  were  blazing  and  her  lips  trembling  as 
Mr.  Mclntyre  ceased  speaking.  He  caught  her  look,  and 
resumed  in  a  tone  from  which  he  dropped  all  the  con- 
centrated feeling  that  had  added  such  force  to  his  words. 
"  North  was  delighted  over  your  flowers,  Mrs.  Allston : 
you  've  no  idea  what  pleasure  they  gave  him.  Every  day 
he  tried  to  write  you  a  note  of  thanks  ;  but  he  was  too  weak. 
He  kept  the  flowers  by  his  bedside,  and  would  not  let  them 
be  taken  away.  The  lilies  lasted  long  enough  to  be  placed 
in  his  coffin." 

19 


290  ffIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

"  That  is  the  saddest  story  I  ever  heard.  I  did  not  know 
that  life  could  be  so  hard.  I  have  found  strength  to  bear 
the  tragedy  that  came  into  my  life  ;  but  this,  I  see,  was  sor- 
row and  wrong  too  heavy  to  be  endured.  If  only  the  poor 
mother  had  died  !  " 

"  Mrs.  Allston,"  said  the  old  Scotchman,  with  the  almost 
womanly  tenderness  which  sometimes  softened  his  manner, 
and  had  endeared  him  to  so  many,  "  you  might  write  to 
Mrs.  North." 

"  But  you  told  me  she  was  deranged." 

"  I  did  not  tell  you  she  was  out  of  the  reach  of  kindness. 
Do  you  think  one  who  is  deranged  cannot  feel  sympathy  ? 
This  poor  mother's  heart  might  gladly  open  to  let  in  a  ray 
of  comfort  from  a  tender,  loving  woman  like  you.  She  is 
most  likely  always  thinking  of  her  boy  in  prison,  or  dead  : 
help  her  to  think  of  him  living  in  heaven.  If  there  is  a 
heaven,  he  must  be  there ;  if  there  is  a  Providence,  there 
must  be  some  divine  compensation  for  a  life  blasted  by 
human  injustice.  Write  to  the  mother  simply  and  from 
your  heart;  it  can  do  no  harm." 

"  I  will,"  Katharine  answered.  Then,  looking  seriously  at 
Mr.  Mclntyre,  she  added  :  "  You  are  a  very  good  man  ;  I 
want  you  to  be  Robert's  friend." 

"la  good  man  ?  There  you  are  mistaken.  There  's 
many  a  man  as  good  as  I  in  this  prison,  —  I  am  an  old 
heretic;  but  I'm  a  friend  of  Colonel  Allston's." 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

ONE,   OR   MANY? 

The  upper  region  of  the  air  admits  neither  clouds  nor  tempests,  the 
thunders  and  meteors  are  found  below ;  and  this  is  the  difference  between  a 
mean  and  an  exalted  mind.  —  SENECA. 

JHERE  is  another  prisoner  besides  my  husband 
that  I  wish  to  see  to-day.  I  should  like  an  in- 
terview with  Bruce  Downing." 

Mrs.  Allston  had  received  several  letters  from 
Downing,  who  had  gone  back  to  his  work  in  the  shop  the 
day  after  she  saw  him  in  the  hospital.  He  had  scarcely 
alluded  to  his  health  in  his  letters ;  but  the  impression  was 
given  that  he  was  gaining  strength.  Katharine  was  startled 
by  his  altered  appearance  as  he  came  in  to  see  her,  — 
his  face  flushed  with  hectic  fever,  his  breathing  short  and 
irregular,  and  his  whole  frame  wasted  with  disease.  She 
saw  at  a  glance  that  this  was  likely  to  be  their  last  meeting, 
although  he  spoke  hopefully  and  cheerfully. 

Downing's  whole  face  was  illumined  with  pleasure  at  see- 
ing Mrs.  Allston,  and  he  talked  with  her  with  perfect  freedom 
and  simplicity.  He  seemed  to  feel  that  his  own  religious 
experience  belonged  to  her. 

"  I  was  an  infidel,  and  should  have  died  an  infidel  if  I 
had  not  met  you,"  he  said.  "  All  the  ministers  in  the  coun- 
try could  not  have  done  for  me  what  that  one  talk  with  you 


2Q2  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

did.  From  that  day  I  have  tried  to  be  a  Christian.  It  was 
hard  work  building  on  a  foundation  of  ten  years  of  wicked- 
ness. At  first  I  used  to  get  discouraged ;  but  one  day  I 
remembered  that  when  I  began  work  in  the  shop  I  thought 
I  never  could  learn  to  do  the  work  given  me.  I  thought 
so  for  a  long  time ;  and  yet  all  the  while  I  was  learning. 
That  thought  gave  me  courage,  for  I  knew  that  with  my  re- 
ligion it  must  be  the  same,  —  that  all  the  while  I  was  learn- 
ing. Of  course  no  one  believes  much  in  me,  I  have  to 
expect  that ;  but  I  know  that  I  have  two  friends  who  do  be- 
lieve in  me,  —  One  above,  and  you.  I  found  some  verses 
in  a  paper,  and  I  learned  them ;  and  I  have  been  trying  to 
live  by  them." 

"  Can  you  repeat  them  to  me?  " 

And  then  for  a  moment  he  showed  a  little  embarrass- 
ment. "  I  don't  know,  —  I  never  said  any  poetry  in  my 
life  ;  but  I  '11  try,  for  I  want  you  to  hear  them." 

His  embarrassment  increased  the  shortness  of  his  breath, 
which  was  painfully  broken  as  he  repeated,  — 

"  I  stand  upon  the  mount  of  God 

With  gladness  in  my  soul ; 
I  see  the  storms  in  vale  beneath, 
I  hear  the  thunders  roll. 

"  But  I  am  calm  with  thee,  my  God, 

Beneath  these  glorious  skies  ; 

And  to  the  height  on  which  I  stand 

Nor  storm  nor  cloud  can  rise." 

This  simple  and  quiet  avowal  of  spiritual  elevation,  of  a 
conscious  aim  to  live  above  the  hard  fact  that  he  was  suffer- 
ing and  dying,  that  he  was  a  convict  destitute  of  everything 
that  gives  value  to  life ;  this  setting  aside  of  the  temporal, 
and  opening  his  heart  to  the  eternal,  —  made  an  impression 
upon  Katharine  too  deep  for  words.  She,  who  had  come 
as  guide  and  teacher  to  this  perishing  criminal,  felt  herself 


ONE,   OR  MANY? 


293 


a  child  accepting  from  another  the  proof  of  a  victory  of 
faith  such  as  she  had  not  dreamed  of.  And  the  force  of  this 
lesson  lay  in  the  absolute  unconsciousness  of  the  teacher. 

Katharine  might  then  and  there  have  returned  his  trib- 
ute, "  Not  all  the  ministers  in  the  world  could  have  given 
me  what  you  have  given  me."  From  that  hour  dated  her 
realization  of  how  certain  is  the  reflex  action  of  giving. 
She  did  not  try  to  say  these  things  to  her  friend,  but  he 
left  her  with  a  deepened  sense  of  her  sympathy  with  all 
that  was  best  in  him. 

They  did  not  meet  again.  The  end  was  nearer  than 
they  thought.  Katharine's  next  letter  to  Bruce  Downing 
was  returned  with  the  word  "  Dead  "  written  across  it. 

"  Robert,"  said  Katharine,  in  the  long  talk  with  her 
husband  that  followed  this  interview  with  Downing,  "are 
there  no  thoroughly  bad  men?  I  do  not  know  what  to 
think,  or  how  far  to  trust  my  own  impressions."  •  e 

"  The  prisoners  you  have  met  are  exceptional,  Katie, 
and  Mr.  Mclntyre  takes  an  exceptional  position  in  rela- 
tion to  them.  Mr.  Mclntyre  acts  upon  the  men  like  a 
moral  chemical  which  brings  to  the  surface  the  latent  good 
in  them.  Or  rather,  his  shrewd  penetration  and  insight 
find  the  hidden  good,  though  he  knows  the  wickedness. 
The  men  know  that  he  takes  them  at  their  best,  and  they 
trust  him ;  even  the  habitual  liars  mean  to  be  sincere  with 
him.  His  estimate  of  the  men  on  the  whole  would  be  a 
fair  one,  —  he  is  not  a  Scotchman  for  nothing. 

"  You  don't  happen  to  be  a  Scotchman,  Katie.  It 's  all 
right  for  you  to  believe  that  the  good  you  find  is  genuine  ; 
only,  you  may  be  sure  that  you  can't  judge  of  the  whole 
man  by  the  elements  in  him  which  respond  to  your  per- 
sonality. You  will  have  to  get  outside  of  your  own  influence 
in  order  to  see  him  as  he  is. 


294 


HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 


"  With  the  guards  or  with  each  other  the  men  show  a 
very  different,  but  no  less  real,  side.  They  are  looked  upon 
as  bad  men;  they  know  that,  and  that  of  itself  creates 
antagonism.  Morally,  we  are  all  something  like  the 
chameleon. 

"  Of  course  it  does  a  man  good  to  talk  with  you  and  to 
know  that  you  are  ready  to  believe  in  him, —  it  helps  him 
to  believe  in  himself  and  to  muster  his  moral  forces ;  but 
how  those  moral  forces  will  hold  their  own  against  conflict- 
ing evil,  or,  as  Williams  says,  '  against  the  devil  that  is  in 
them,'  the  vitiating  moral  atmosphere  here,  and  inevitable 
temptation  to  come,  that's  the  problem.  Your  friend 
Bruce  Downing  is  not  going  to  give  us  an  answer,  for  his 
resolves  will  have  no  chance  to  be  tested  by  liberty." 

"He  can't  help  us  in  that  way, — no;   but  I  feel  that 
he  has  given  me  a  — "      She  paused,  arrested  by  her 
husband's  not  altogether  encouraging  expression. 
•    "  Don't  tell  me  that  you  have  found  a  mission,  dear ; 
anything  but  that,"  he  protested. 

"  Absurd,  is  n't  it?  "  she  reflected,  with  an  amused  smile. 
"  But  you  know  I  found  my  mission  when  I  fell  in  love 
with  you." 

"  And  this  is  one  of  the  results,"  he  added,  with  sudden 
seriousness.  "  I  do  pity  these  friendless  men ;  I  know 
their  condition  to  be  wrong.  But  I  doubt  its  being  best 
for  you  to  go  on  making  friends  here.  This '  may  seem 
ungenerous,  but  there  are  men  here  whom  you  ought  not 
to  know.  I  feel  this  as  your  husband." 

"  I  understand,"  she  admitted  thoughtfully ;  "  but  my 
sense  of  security  would  lie  in  the  fact  that  you  are  my 
husband,  and  that  you  sympathize  with  the  prisoners  and 
comprehend  my  feeling  on  the  subject.  And,  moreover, 
you  don't  think  it  possible  that  I  could  be  friends  with 
such  men  as  you  have  in  mind,  do  you  ?  " 


ONE,   OR  MANY?  2€)$ 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  and  Heaven  forbid  too  that  you  should 
ever  know  the  real  depths  of  ignorance  and  wickedness  to 
be  found  in  a  prison  !  "  Robert  answered  emphatically. 

All  at  once  Katharine  was  aware  of  the  possibility  that 
Robert  might  disappoint  her.  That  he  should  swerve  from 
her  ideal  of  him  would  have  hurt  her  more  than  to  have 
relinquished  forever  her  incipient  philanthropy.  She  had 
not  thought  that  he  would  ever  establish  his  wish  as  her 
husband  as  the  final  court  of  appeal  in  any  matter  of  right 
and  wrong ;  and  if  it  were  right  for  her  to  extend  sympathy 
or  help  where  she  believed  it  was  needed,  it  would  be 
wrong  for  her  to  withhold  it.  She  appreciated  her  hus- 
band's tenderness  for  her ;  but  it  was  she  now  who  was 
influenced  by  Lord  Lovelace's  despised  couplet.  In  her 
heart  of  hearts  she  realized  that  they  two  could  not  love 
each  other  so  well,  loved  they  not  the  right  more. 

This  feeling  was  not  expressed  ;  she  only  said  :  "  Robert, 
I  want  you  to  tell  me  something.  What  is  the  use  of  good- 
ness and  education  if  they  are  to  form  a  barrier  between 
those  who  have  them  and  those  who  have  them  not?  And 
tell  me,  dear,  do  we  ever  lose  by  giving?  Isn't  it  safe  for 
us  to  venture  to  act  on  spiritual  laws?" 

"Katharine,  you  expect  me  to  answer  such  searching 
questions  with  a  view  to  your  immediate  application.  You 
expect  me  to  admit  that  the  conventional  word  '  culture ' 
means  development,  morally  and  intellectually;  and  that 
it  has  small  excuse  for  being,  unless  it  opens  highways 
of  communication  instead  of  building  walls  of  separation. 
How  can  I  defend  my  prejudice  or  my  selfishness  when 
you  make  me  carry  it  into  the  open  field  of  general 
principles?" 

"  Don't  talk  of  selfishness  or  prejudice  when  it 's  only 
your  care  for  me  that  influences  you.  But  if  I  could  do 
anything  for  any  one  here,  would  n't  it  be  a  comfort  to  us 


296  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

both  ?  Since  you  must  be  here,  it  is  easier  for  me  to  take 
the  prison  into  my  life;  it  seems  to  bring  me  nearer  to 
you  ;  and  then —  don't  you  think  it  is  right?  " 

"  Right  for  you  to  follow  the  leadings  of  your  own  heart  ? 
Right  for  me  to  trust  you  to  Heaven  and  your  own  intui- 
tions ?  Surely  I  need  not  fear  to  do  that.  But  you  must 
take  Mr.  Mclntyre  for  your  guardian  angel,  and  I  know 
you  '11  let  me  be  your  father  confessor.  Every  time  you 
come  here  you  bring  a  breath  of  heaven  to  me.  Why 
should  I  keep  it  from  others?  " 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 

A  LAST  EVENING. 

"  And  bringing  our  lives  to  the  level  of  others, 
Hold  the  cup  we  have  filled  to  their  uses  at  last." 

GUARD  paused  for  a  moment  at  Robert's  cell 
one  evening:  "You're  to  be  changed  to. the 
library  to-morrow,  Allston,"  he  said,  and  passed 
on. 

"I've  been  expecting  of  something  like  this,  Colonel. 
You  'd  never  ought  to  of  been  in  the  shoe-shop  anyhow." 
Williams  made  this  remark  slowly,  with  an  effort  at  cheer- 
fulness ;  but  his  heart  sank  at  the  prospect  of  his  own 
irreparable  loss. 

"  I  hate  to  leave  you,  old  fellow.  My  wife  would  like  to 
hear  from  you,  and  could  keep  you  and  me  informed  about 
each  other,  if  you  care  to  write  to  her,"  suggested  Allston. 

"  I  'd  like  that  better 'n  anything,  if  you  don't  object," 
Williams  answered,  a  gleam  of  pleasure  lighting  his  eyes. 
"  But  there  ain't  anything  '11  make  up  for  the  lack  of  your 
society,  Colonel." 

"  I  think  I  can  arrange  to  have  my  papers  and  maga- 
zines sent  in  to  you." 

"  Yes,  that  '11  give  me  something  to  think  of."  A  sense 
of  his  old  loneliness  rushed  over  Williams,  and  he  relapsed 


298  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

into  a  feeling  of  dull  despair.  "  Oh,  I  hate  this  prison  ;  I 
want  to  get  out  of  it !  It 's  lowering ;  it 's  demoralizing  !  " 
he  suddenly  exclaimed. 

Knowing  that  it  would  do  the  old  man  good  to  talk, 
Allston  led  him  on.  "You  differ  from  the  chaplain,  then," 
he  said,  referring  to  the  last  discourse  in  chapel. 

"  No,  I  don't  differ  as  to  what  he  said  about  the  benefit 
of  a  man's  breaking  off  dissipated  habits  and  forming  the 
habit  of  industry ;  and  I  agree  with  him  that  it 's  a  good 
thing  for  a  man  to  have  a  chance  to  think,  and  he  gets 
that  here.  What  he  said  is  true  as  far  as  it  goes ;  but  that 
it  don't  go  far  enough  is  proved  by  the  men  who  come  here 
over  and  over  again.  I  tell  you  it  lowers  a  man.  The 
whole  air  is  infected,  first  of  all  with  suspicion.  Prisoners 
suspect  each  other,  prisoners  suspect  guards,  and  guards 
suspect  prisoners.  Suspicion  is  a  darned  blind  thing,  any- 
how, and  it  eats  into  a  man  like  vitri'l.  If  a  man  comes 
here  honest,  nobody  believes  what  he  says ;  and  it 's  easy 
enough  living  down  to  what 's  expected  of  you.  If  a  man 
undertakes  to  live  honest  and  self-respecting  in  here,  he  's 
got  to  keep  a  steady  eye  and  row  hard  against  the  stream. 
Still,  if  he  keeps  on  long  enough,  he  does  get  a  kind  of 
character.  I  know  Mr.  Mclntyre  would  take  my  word 
any  time ;  but  he  knows  me,  and  he  's  an  honest  man 
himself." 

"  You  think  if  it  takes  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,  it  takes  an 
honest  man  to  know  an  honest  man." 

"  Ondoubtedly.  An  honest  man  will  feel  another  man's 
honesty  when  he  can't  put  his  finger  on  it ;  but  your  real 
underhanded  man  don't  believe  in  anybody.  Now,  I  don't 
ask  the  prison  authorities  to  show  me  any  favor,  but  I  want 
to  be  taken  for  the  honest  man  I  am." 

"You  mean  you  wish  only  for  justice.  But  haven't  you 
learned  that  simple  justice  is  far  more  rare  than  mercy? 


A   LAST  EVENING.  299 

We  should  take  a  long  step  towards  the  Millennium  if  the 
keys  of  our  prisons  were  placed  in  the  hands  of  Justice." 

"  I  suppose  you  think  Justice  would  keep  me  behind  the 
bars,"  said  Williams  abruptly,  making  a  personal  application 
of  the  theory. 

"  You  have  asked  me  that  question  several  times  in  one 
form  or  another.  I  am  not  going  to  answer  it.  But  I  am 
going  to  ask  you  if  you  think  the  life  you  have  lived  entitles 
you  to  liberty ;  if  the  bitter  feeling  you  express  towards  this 
world  will  secure  you  a  home  in  the  heaven  in  which  you 
seem  to  believe  ?  Are  you  the  kind  of  person  that  saints 
and  angels  will  rush  to  receive  with  open  arms ;  or  if  they 
turn  their  backs  upon  you,  do  you  expect  to  avenge  the 
insult  as  you  claim  you  have  a  right  to  do?" 

"  Fire  away,  Colonel ! "  replied  the  target  with  a  grim 
smile. 

"  Before  you  anticipate  heaven,  you  had  better  get  rid  of 
your  revengeful  and  bloodthirsty  spirit.  You  happen  to 
like  me,  and  you  treat  me  well ;  but  how  did  your  last  cell- 
mate fare  at  your  hands  ?  I  'm  not  given  to  preaching, 
you  know  that ;  but  I  am  willing  to  take  my  stand  on  the 
Lord's  Prayer.  It 's  simple,  it 's  fair,  it 's  manly ;  it  makes  no 
appeal  for  mercy ;  it  relies  on  justice  when  it  says,  '  Forgive 
me  as  I  forgive  others.'  Now,  do  you  expect  to  approach 
the  Throne  of  Grace  as  a  beggar  crying  for  mercy,  as  a 
brigand  demanding  plunder,  or  as  a  man  saying,  '  I  have 
forgiven  others ;  let  me  be  forgiven'?" 

"  That 's  a  new  idea  of  religion  to  me ;  it  sounds  solid. 
I  believe  I  '11  think  it  over.  Is  it  original,  Colonel  ?  " 

"  You  will  find  it  in  your  Bible,  in  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount,  where  there  are  some  other  teachings  which  it 
might  be  worth  your  while  to  think  over.  It  will  stand 
comparison  with  Socrates.  Williams,"  resumed  Allston 
after  a  pause,  and  with  deepening  color,  "  I  am  under  an 


300 


HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 


obligation  to  a  woman  whom  I  have  injured  beyond  all 
hope  of  reparation,  —  the  mother  of  the  man  that  I  killed. 
If  her  course  can  help  you  to  understand  Christian  forgive- 
ness,   well,  I  owe  it  to  her  to  impart  her  blessed  influence 

wherever  it  may  help  any  one.  You  will  understand  that 
it  is  not  easy  for  me  to  speak  of  this  ;  but  it  does  not  belong 
to  me  alone,  it  belongs  to  Christianity." 

He  did  not  go  into  details,  but  he  pictured  simply  and 
clearly  the  spirit  in  which  Mrs.  Irvington  had  met  Katharine, 
and  in  some  way  bestowed  a  blessing  which  Heaven  itself 
had  withheld. 

The  older  man  listened  with  grave  attention ;  then  quietly 
asked  :  — 

"  And  this  woman  is  a  Christian  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  a  praying  Methodist? " 

"  Yes." 

After  an  interval  of  silence  Williams  looked  up. 

"  Colonel,"  said  he,  "  I  believe  I  have  been  mistaken 
about  some  things.  I  '11  wait  a  while  before  I  send  for  the 
heathen  missionaries.  Perhaps  I  can  think  some  of  these 
things  out  by  myself." 

The  man's  mood  had  wholly  changed.  The  anger  had 
spent  itself,  and  during  the  rest  of  the  evening  he  showed 
more  gentleness  of  nature  than  Allston  had  ever  seen  in 
him. 

The  two  men  talked  long  and  earnestly  together.  Robert 
tried  to  express  his  genuine  sympathy  for  his  cell-mate, 
deepened  as  it  was  by  the  realization  that  henceforth  Wil- 
liams might  be  without  sympathy  to  the  end  of  his  life. 

Sympathy  !  We  speak  the  word  lightly ;  but  it  has  more 
meaning  between  man  and  man,  between  woman  and 
woman,  than  any  word  in  the  language.  It  is  the  secret 
of  all  influence  that  is  good  and  lasting. 


CHAPTER    XLVII. 


THE   CIRCLE  WIDENS. 

"  Not  less  to-day  rare  souls  there  are  who  live 
In  touch  with  all  things  just  and  pure  and  true, 
Sweet  love  their  gracious  and  abiding  guest, 
Who  from  their  own  white  heights  grudge  not  to  give 
The  sinner  and  the  publican  their  due, 
Nor  care  to  judge  mankind  but  at  its  best." 

IFE  has  a  way  of  opening  before  us  in  one  direc- 
tion. Once  assured  of  her  husband's  consent 
to  the  extension  of  her  acquaintance  among 
the  convicts,  Katharine  Allston  herself  could 
not  have  told  how  it  came  to  be  an  understood  thing  that 
she  was  interested  in  them.  The  prisoners  knew  it ;  the 
warden  knew  it,  and  gave  her  the  privilege  of  spending  a 
Sunday  at  the  prison  twice  a  year. 

Occasionally  some  unknown  prisoner  wrote  to  her, 
occasionally  a  face  in  the  hospital  attracted  her;  but  it 
was  mainly  through  Mr.  Mclntyre  that  she  made  new 
friends.  Sometimes  it  would  be  some  one  not  out  of  the 
boundaries  of  boyhood,  sometimes  a  broken-down  old  man, 
for  whom  her  sympathies  were  enlisted,  usually  one  utterly 
friendless  and  forgotten.  Once  it  happened  that  she  asked 
for  a  man  who  had  been  in  prison  for  twelve  years,  with 


302  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

never  a  letter  or  a  friend  coming  to  him  from  the  outside. 
The  man  could  not  believe  that  he  had  been  sent  for. 

"  It  is  a  mistake,"  he  said ;  "  there  is  no  one  in  the 
world  who  could  ask  to  see  me." 

He  had  long  ago  ceased  to  hope  or  to  expect  anything. 
Sent  to  prison  for  life  at  twenty  for  a  single  unpremeditated 
crime,  the  overwhelming  misery  of  his  own  fate  had  para- 
lyzed moral  consciousness,  and  precluded  the  possibility  of 
natural  remorse. 

Another  older  man,  one  of  a  sensitive,  poetical,  and 
religious  temperament,  who  had  taken  a  life  under  tem- 
porary derangement,  was  a  prey  to  most  terrible  remorse. 
He  also  was  under  sentence  for  life. 

In  response  to  Mrs.  Allston's  sympathy  he  opened  his 
heart  and  confided  to  her  :  — 

"  All  these  ten  years  my  crime  has  been  growing  stronger 
before  me.  Once  I  hoped  I  had  been  forgiven ;  but  now 
the  light  has  gone  out.  I  have  no  hope  for  this  world  or 
hereafter.  But  I  dare  not  try  to  forget ;  it  is  not  right  that 
I  should  forget." 

The  man  was  a  German,  his  face  the  face  of  a  poet, 
and  the  letters  that  he  afterwards  wrote  Mrs.  Allston 
were  like  transcriptions  from  the  prophets  of  the  Jewish 
dispensation. 

After  these  men  had  once  met  Mrs.  Allston  they  no 
longer  felt  that  they  were  absolutely  friendless ;  but  the 
web  of  their  destiny  was  too  hopelessly  entangled  ever  to 
be  unravelled  in  this  world. 

It  was  not  enough  for  Katharine  simply  to  enter  into  the 
sorrows  of  others,  she  longed  to  open  channels  for  practi- 
cal relief.  To  understand  an  evil  was  to  wish  to  counteract 
it ;  to  know  of  a  sorrow  was  to  seek  to  alleviate  it.  How 
she  studied  the  problem  of  these  wretched  lives,  and 
how  resolutely  she  set  herself  to  find  an  opening  to  let  in 


THE  CIRCLE    WIDENS.  303 

some  ray  of  hope  or  faith  !  She  learned  to  burn  her  own 
smoke  very  effectually  in  those  days ;  and  had  he  but 
known  it,  it  was  this  very  prison  experience  of  Katharine's 
which  was  the  secret  in  after  years  of  the  unquenchable 
sunshine  in  Robert  Allston's  home, — the  sunshine  that 
turned  the  children's  tears  to  smiles,  and  evaporated  an- 
noyances out  of  existence. 

During  one  of  her  talks  with  her  Scotch  friend,  Katha- 
rine questioned  impetuously :  "  You  have  given  me  so 
much  to  feel ;  can't  you  give  me  something  to  do  ?  What 
is  the  use  of  my  sympathy  unless  I  can  make  things 
better  for  some  of  these  people?  I  should  think  they 
would  despise  me  with  my  empty  words,"  she  concluded 
emphatically. 

Mr.  Mclntyre  regarded  her  for  a  moment  with  his 
kindly  penetrating  glance,  well  understanding  her  sense  of 
helplessness  under  the  burden  of  wrong  with  which  her 
heart  was  laden.  The  intense  earnestness  of  her  expres- 
sion served  only  to  accent  her  girlish  grace  and  youthful 
delicacy ;  and  the  old  Scotchman's  chivalrous  impulse 
was  to  save  her  from  herself. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  me  to  chloroform  the  guards 
and  hand  the  keys  of  the  prison  over  to  you  some  night, 
so  that  you  could  let  all  these  fellows  out,"  he  said  with  a 
dry  smile. 

"  No,  don't  tempt  me ;  for  there 's  no  knowing  what  I 
might  not  do,"  Katharine  replied,  with  an  answering  smile. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  that  your  words  are  empty.  Sym- 
pathy is  a  real  thing,  and  meets  a  real  want,"  said  Mr. 
Mclntyre,  recurring  to  her  previous  remark.  "You  are 
going  through  your  initiation  now ;  you  will  see  your  way 
to  something  practical  in  time." 

But  it  happened  that  Katharine  did  not  at  first  recognize 
an  opportunity  when  it  came  in  her  way. 


304 


HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 


During  the  same  visit  to  the  prison,  while  spending  an 
hour  in  the  hospital,  she  drifted  into  conversation  with  a 
man  who  was  distracted  with  anxiety  for  his  little  daughter, 
a  child  of  eight,  who  had  been  sent  to  a  poor-house  on  the 
death  of  her  mother. 

"I  know  that  I  can't  get  well,  and  I  don't  care  for  my- 
self, —  I'm  tired  enough  of  life ;  but  I  can't  die  easy  on 
account  of  Dorette.  I've  looked  forward  to  making  a 
home  for  her  after  I  got  out.  I  've  shirked  every  other 
duty  in  life,  but  I  did  n't  mean  to  shirk  that.  It  seems 
hard  that  a  fellow  can't  do  a  decent  thing  when  he  wants 
to;  but  that  hand '11  never  do  another  stroke  of  work," 
he  said  to  Katharine,  lifting  up  a  thin  white  hand  that 
looked  as  if  it  never  had  done  much  work.  "  But  to  leave 
that  little  thing,  my  little  Dorette,  in  the  poor-house, — 
it 's  a  sin  and  a  shame,"  he  added,  in  dull,  despairing 
anger. 

"  Perhaps  I  can  find  a  better  place  than  the  poor-house 
for  your  little  girl,"  Katharine  answered  gently,  the  strong 
mother-feeling  in  her  own  heart  stirred  by  the  thought  of 
this  orphan. 

"  Oh,  take  her  yourself,  Miss  Allston ! "  entreated  the  man 
with  sudden  desperate  courage.  "  She  is  a  good  little 
thing,  and  so  honest;  it  made  me  feel  ashamed  when  I 
lied  to  her.  She 's  her  mother  right  over  again,  and  I  'd 
rather  see  her  dead  than  think  she'd  marry  a  thief.  My 
wife  was  a  school-teacher  in  Ohio,  smart  and  spry;  her 
folks  died  of  cholera  in  '54,  and  she  'd  had  to  look  out  for 
herself.  We  boarded  together  one  winter.  I  was  a  thief 
then,  but  she  did  n't  know  it,  and  was  innocent  enough  to 
take  a  fancy  to  me.  I  thought  I  'd  quit  stealing  when  I 
had  her  for  a  wife ;  but  liking  for  a  woman  don't  make  a 
man  over.  When  the  baby  came,  we  named  her  for  my 
mother.  Dorette.  Oh,  Miss  Allston,  for  her  mother's  sake, 


THE   CIRCLE    WIDENS.  305 

and  my  mother's  sake,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  if  you  are  a 
Christian,  take  my  little  Dorette  !  " 

"  I  can't  promise  you  that  I  will  take  her  myself,"  said 
Katharine,  shrinking  from  such  a  step  in  the  dark ;  "  but 
I  do  promise  you  that  I  will  go  to  her  and  see  that  she  is 
cared  for,  and  that  I  will  be  her  friend  as  long  as  she 
needs  me.  She  shall  not  be  left  in  the  poor-house." 

A  look  of  inexpressible  relief  came  into  the  man's  face. 
"  Now  I  can  die  easy,  Miss  Allston,"  he  panted,  exhausted 
with  the  effort  of  throwing  his  whole  strength  into  one  last 
attempt  to  save  his  child. 

Katharine,  sitting  at  the  man's  beside,  wrote  a  letter  for 
the  father  to  the  child ;  and  his  dying  message  was  that  she 
should  forget  him  and  remember  her  mother,  and  love  the 
lady  who  was  coming  to  her. 

Dorette  Amberg  proved  to  be  a  picturesque  and  winning 
little  creature.  "This  is  mama,"  she  said  to  Katharine, 
opening  a  locket  that  she  wore  outside  her  calico  dress ; 
and  as  she  looked  at  the  picture,  Katharine  saw  the  face 
of  the  child,  matured,  indeed,  but  with  the  same  pathetic 
acquaintance  with  grief  suggested  by  the  eyes. 

Not  knowing  what  disposition  to  make  of  Dorette,  Kath- 
arine took  her  to  her  own  home  temporarily.  Mrs.  Ken- 
nard's  heart  opened  to  the  brown-eyed  little  waif.  "  She 
must  be  properly  dressed,  Katharine.  I  'm  going  right  to 
Miss  Coombs  to  see  if  she  can't  come  to-morrow.  The 
child  must  have  a  complete  wardrobe  of  suitable,  pretty 
things  before  we  talk  of  disposing  of  her." 

The  autocrat  of  the  household  having  made  this  an- 
nouncement, a  process  of  transformation  was  begun ;  and 
with  the  disappearance  of  the  dingy  calico  dresses  the  shy 
constraint  of  the  child  wore  off. 

The  day  never  came  when  there  was  any  talk  of  dis- 
posing of  Dorette.  The  child  had  remained  on  a  sort  of 

20 


306  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

probation  for  nearly  a  month,  when  one  day  she  clasped 
her  arms  around  Mrs.  Kennard's  neck  and  whispered: 
"Won't  you  keep  me  for  your  little  girl  always?" 

"Always?"  repeated  Mrs.  Kennard,  thus  suddenly  con- 
fronted with  the  destiny  of  the  child ;  and  while  the  little 
girl  waited,  Mrs.  Kennard  glanced  into  her  own  heart,  and 
relieved  to  find  the  answer  there,  she  continued,  "Yes, 
always,  if  you  are  good,  Dorette." 

And  Dorette  knew  how  to  be  good.  In  the  passionate 
desire  to  save  her  darling  from  the  corruption  of  the  father's 
nature,  the  mother  had  done  everything  in  her  power  to 
develop  the  child's  moral  character  and  to  strengthen  her 
inward  monitor.  With  a  desperate  fear  of  inherited  ten- 
dencies she  had  determined  that  the  child's  conscience 
should  be  on  the  alert ;  and  Dorette  had  been  trained  in 
obedience  and  in  an  unswerving  directness  of  statement 
which  occasionally  embarrassed  the  more  conciliatory  Mrs. 
Kennard. 

As  the  little  girl  felt  more  and  more  at  home,  she  grew 
into  the  hearts  of  all  the  household.  It  was  Mrs.  Kennard 
who  dressed  Dorette's  dolls  in  apparel  so  gorgeous  as  almost 
to  overawe  the  little  mother ;  it  was  the  Doctor  who  taught 
Dorette  to  drive,  and  took  her  on  many  a  round  of  after- 
noon visits ;  it  was  Mrs.  Irvington  who  asked  that  the  child 
might  come  to  her  for  lessons  in  the  mornings  until  she 
was  prepared  for  school-life :  but  it  was  Auntie  Katharine 
who  was  her  refuge  when  anything  went  wrong,  who  nursed 
her  through  all  her  illnesses,  and  contrived  to  make  the 
seasons  of  convalescence  periods  of  unalloyed  enjoyment, 
and  who  always  put  the  little  girl  to  bed,  closing  her  day 
with  some  enchanting  story  from  the  realm  of  fairyland 
or  childhood. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  was  Dorette  who  supplied  in  Dr. 
Kennard's  home  that  element  of  childhood  without  which 


THE   CIRCLE    WIDENS.  307 

no  home  is  complete.  Dolls,  prim  or  piquant,  according 
to  the  mood  of  their  little  mother,  appeared  on  the  piazza, 
in  the  hall,  or  on  the  stairs, — wherever  Dorette  had  last 
been,  —  and  were  welcome  wherever  found ;  for  neither 
Katharine  nor  Mrs.  Kennard  had  outgrown  their  early 
fondness  for  these  children  in  miniature. 

The  quaint  old  story-books  preserved  from  Mrs.  Ken- 
nard's  childhood  were  brought  out  for  Dorette's  entertain- 
ment ;  but  their  stilted  charms  weakened  before  the  more 
modern  productions  of  "  Aunt  Fanny "  and  Miss  Yonge. 
When  Mrs.  Kennard  heard  Dorette  at  the  piano  practising 
the  little  pieces  that  Katharine  had  first  played,  she  almost 
felt  that  she  had  her  own  little  Kathie  back  again,  —  Kathie 
with  a  golden  future. 

And  so  it  happened  that  before  a  year  had  passed, 
Katharine  wrote  to  Robert :  — 

"  I  don't  know  how  we  ever  lived  without  Dorette,  —  she  is 
indispensable  to  us  all  now;  and  only  think,  dear,  when  you 
come  home  to  carry  me  away,  that  vacant  place  in  the  home 
which  it  hurt  me  to  think  of,  will  not  be  vacant.  Dorette 
adores  mamma,  and  she  gives  no  sign  of  developing  what 
mamma  calls  my  independent  views  of  action. 

"At  present,  Dorette  rather  regards  me  as  the  necessity, 
and  mamma  as  the  luxury  of  life ;  but  I  'm  going  to  form  her 
on  Mr.  Field's  idea  of  dispensing  with  necessaries  as  long  as 
she  can  command  luxuries." 

But  to  none  of  those  who  were  reclaiming  Dorette's  life 
from  a  desert  to  a  garden  did  the  child  give  a  richer  re- 
turn than  to  Mrs.  Irvington,  whose  silent  house  seemed 
another  place  during  the  morning  invasions  of  the  child. 
Dorette's  ideas  of  life  were  taking  on  new  hues  under  Mrs. 
Kennard's  influence.  Flowers  must  be  kept  in  Mrs.  Irving- 
ton's  little  parlor  now,  and  Dorette  brought  daily  offerings 


308 


HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 


for  the  vases ;  and  in  answer  to  flowers  in  the  parlor,  cook- 
ies blossomed  in  the  quiet  little  kitchen. 

In  the  recreation  hours  Mrs.  Irvington  lived  over  again 
her  own  almost  forgotten  childhood,  and  the  sadder  reali- 
ties of  her  married  life  gave  way,  for  the  time,  to  the  revival 
of  the  happier  early  days. 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

A     MISTAKEN     VOCATION. 

JHE  change  from  the  shoe-shop  to  the  library 
seemed  a  step  towards  freedom  when  Allston 
first  entered  upon  his  new  duties.  The  work 
was  congenial,  and  the  rigid  restraint  neces- 
sary in  the  shops  was  relaxed,  and  there  was  more  freedom 
of  intercourse  with  other  men. 

Mr.  Mclntyre,  when  off  duty,  habitually  browsed  among 
the  books.  The  chaplain  frequently  came  in  to  write  let- 
ters or  to  read ;  and  occasionally  a  convalescing  invalid  from 
the  hospital  was  allowed  a  half  day  in  the  library. 

Allston  was  surprised  to  find  what  a  high  average  was 
maintained  in  the  books  selected  by  the  convicts ;  often 
the  best  lists  were  sent  in  by  men  considered  most  de- 
praved. It  was  a  not  unusual  manifestation  of  inconsist- 
ency between  the  intellectual  and  the  outward  life  of  man. 

One  serious  drawback  to  Allston's  comfort  in  this  new 
position  awaited  him  in  the  person  of  his  associate-librarian 
and  cell-mate.  The  days  were  harassed  and  the  evenings 
tormented  by  this  fawning,  egotistical  liar,  with  his  cease- 
less, intrusive  talk.  All  gentlemanly  defensive  weapons 
failed  to  penetrate  the  rind  of  his  egotism,  and  no  cold- 
ness of  manner  chilled  the  flow  of  his  shallow  and  vulgar 
chatter. 


310  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

At  first  Allston  studied  this  Frank  Carson  with  some 
interest,  as  furnishing  at  least  a  new  specimen  of  humanity ; 
more  than  once  he  dropped  an  experimentary  plummet  into 
the  man's  immoral  nature,  expecting  to  find  solid  bottom 
somewhere,  —  but  in  vain.  The  plainest  distinctions  of 
right  and  wrong  seemed  blotted  from  his  vision,  self-in- 
terest the  only  motive  recognizable ;  and  what  made  him 
intolerable  beyond  all  else  was  his  profession  of  being 
religious.  "  I  'm  a  believer ;  I  always  was,  —  I  was  brought 
up  to  be  one ;  and  my  religion  carries  me  through  every- 
thing," was  his  daily  assertion  ;  and  he  certainly  appeared 
to  have  been  "  through  everything,"  whatever  it  was  that 
carried  him. 

Carson  himself  did  not  seem  half  so  impatient  for  the 
day  of  his  release  as  Allston  soon  became  ;  but  the  con- 
nection of  the  two  was  abruptly  severed  one  morning  when 
Carson  was  detected  in  a  dishonorable  use  of  his  privileges 
in  the  library,  and  was  summarily  sent  to  work  in  one  of 
the  shops. 

For  several  days  Carson's  vacant  place  was  left  unfilled  ; 
and  Allston's  nerves,  rasped  almost  beyond  endurance  by 
constant  friction,  were  soothed  by  the  welcome  solitude  of 
his  cell  at  night,  and  the  quiet  of  the  library  by  day. 

However,  the  interval  was  brief.  Before  the  expiration 
of  the  week  the  victim  of  an  accident  hobbled  over  from 
the  hospital  with  the  aid  of  a  crutch,  and  commenced  light 
work  in  the  library.  Ray  Bloomer  was  the  cognomen 
under  which  this  young  man's  history  was  hidden  and  his 
personality  veiled.  This  personality  was  peculiar :  it  was 
thin  and  wiry  in  general  construction,  and  so  blond  as  to 
convey  the  impression  of  having  been  bleached ;  his  eyes 
were  sharp  and  alert,  his  movements  full  of  nervous  energy, 
although  enfeebled  by  severe  pain  and  illness.  Coming 
from  the  ranks  of  professional  criminals,  he  was  familiar 


A  MISTAKEN  VOCATION.  311 

with  all  the  evil  known  to  them.  His  prison  experiences 
had  been  hard  enough  to  break  down  a  man  of  less  strong 
vitality ;  he  was  not  yet  discharged  from  the  hospital,  and 
took  his  meals  and  spent  his  nights  there. 

Intercourse  between  Allston  and  his  assistant  being 
limited  to  working  hours,  their  acquaintance  developed 
slowly. 

Bloomer  attended  closely  to  his  work,  and  seemed  dis- 
inclined to  talk.  Allston  observed  that  he  dived  eagerly 
into  some  book,  and  was  instantly  engrossed  in  its  con- 
tents whenever  leisure  would  allow;  and  further  observa- 
tion ascertained  that  the  magnetic  charm  lay  in  books  of 
travel. 

"  What  interests  you  so  in  Europe  ?  "  Allston  asked  one 
day. 

"  I  like  to  get  out  of  the  prison  on  general  principles," 
was  the  reply,  made  without  looking  up  from  his  book. 

"  Are  you  studying  European  cities  with  a  view  to  future 
burglarious  raids?"  pursued  Allston,  unhesitatingly  refer- 
ring to  the  young  man's  well-known  career. 

"Naw;  I'm  done  with  that."  The  answer  was  given 
with  emphatic  disgust.  "  The  risk  and  anxiety  wears  on  a 
man,  and  wages  ain't  regular." 

He  reflected  a  moment,  then  studied  Allston's  face  with 
sudden  interest,  as  if  he  had  never  seen  it  before.  The 
inference  drawn  from  this  study  was  satisfactory,  as  was 
evinced  in  an  unexpected  opening  of  confidence  when  he 
continued :  — 

"  I  've  been  an  unlucky  thief,  and  the  reason  was,  my 
heart  was  n't  in  the  business.  I  don't  b'lieve  Nature  meant 
me  for  a  thief;  there's  better  stuff  in  me.  You  see  I'd 
a  natural  knack  of  understanding  how  the  houses  was  con- 
structed, and  I  got  up  a  reputation  among  regular  burglars 
for  that  when  I  was  only  a  kid.  The  fellows  treated  me 


312 


HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 


well  enough,  and  I  kept  in  with  them.  But  I  see  now 
that  I  made  a  mistake  in  my  calling.  I  'm  going  to  be  an 
architect.  '  That 's  what 's  the  matter.'  I  've  got  a  lot  of 
the  famous  buildings  of  the  world  right  in  my  eye  through 
reading  about  'em.  I  expect  I  Ve  got  a  hard  row  to  hoe 
before  I  get  a  start ;  but  it  won't  be  any  harder  than  the 
row  I  've  left  behind  me." 

Inclined  to  follow  up  this  leading,  AUston  continued: 
"  What  was  your  father?  " 

"  A  builder,  and  a  bully  one." 

"  Good.    Where  is  he  now  ?  " 

"Where  are  all  the  dead?" 

Not  prepared  with  an  answer  to  that  misty  problem,  All- 
ston  pursued  his  inquiries  :  "  And  your  mother?  " 

"  She 's  there  too." 

"  Who  brought  you  up  ?  " 

"  I  ran  away  from  an  orphan  asylum  and  brought  myself 
up,  —  and  a  darned  pretty  job  I  made  of  it,"  he  concluded 
with  a  shrug. 

"  How  do  you  expect  to  become  an  architect  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  exactly,  but  I  'm  going  to  be  one.  First 
I  'm  going  to  work  at  building  for  a  while,  to  get  some 
money  and  practical  experience.  I  'm  young  yet,  only 
twenty ;  an'  a  fellow  can  get  on  in  ten  years  if  he  looks 
straight  at  one  thing.  Ray  Bloomer  '11  never  be  heard  of 
outside  this  prison.  I  '11  go  to  a  new  place,  and  take  my 
own  name,  and  be  a  credit  to  it  yet.  It 's  a  big  piece  of 
luck  for  me  to  be  in  this  library." 

What  followed  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  When  All- 
ston  offered  to  become  Ray's  teacher,  to  supply  him  with 
books  and  materials  for  drawing  and  draughting,  the  boy 
colored,  choked,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  D — n  me  !  "  he  exclaimed,  ashamed  of  his  weakness. 


A   MISTAKEN  VOCATION.  313 

"  Look  here,  Ray  !  "  said  Allston,  with  a  ring  of  the 
colonel  in  his  voice,  "  you  don't  damn  any  one  if  you 
are  going  to  study  with  me." 

"  You  're  going  to  make  me  hoist  the  moral  colors  for 
the  credit  of  our  profession  ?  Very  well ;  and  if  I  attempt 
to  haul  down  that  flag,  shoot  me  on  the  spot." 

For  two  years  Ray  Bloomer  studied  under  the  direction 
of  his  unwearying  teacher,  and  proved  an  apt  and  enthusi- 
astic pupil.  At  the  expiration  of  his  sentence  he  went 
to  Milwaukee  an  accurate  and  skilled  draughtsman,  well 
grounded  in  the  principles  of  architecture,  and  with  his  nat- 
ural artistic  instincts  carefully  trained. 

Bloomer  having  shared  Allston's  cell  after  his  dis- 
charge from  the  hospital,  the  intercourse  between  the 
two  men  ripened  into  closer  intimacy,  and  the  younger 
man  acquired  something  of  his  cell-mate's  courtesy  of 
manner;  he  also  adopted  many  of  Allston's  principles 
of  action  as  his  receptive  mind  recognized  their  bearing 
on  life. 

"  Is  n't  it  odd,  Colonel,"  Bloomer  said  one  evening  near 
the  end  of  his  imprisonment,  "  that  the  best  stroke  of  luck 
I  ever  had  in  my  life  was  breaking  my  leg,  —  or  to  go  still 
farther  back,  getting  arrested  and  being  sent  to  prison? 
That  supplied  me  with  first-class  private  instruction,  a  new 
code  of  morals,  good  society,  with  board  and  lodging  thrown 
in.  Perhaps  my  early  mistake  as  to  my  calling  was  only  a 
longer  road  to  a  higher  success.  Shall  I  write  a  tract  en- 
titled, '  The  Penitentiary  as  a  Moral  and  Business  Training- 
School '  ?  It 's  a  pity  it  could  n't  be  made  that,  any  way ; 
for  plenty  of  young  fellows  in  here  would  be  glad  enough  to 
get  such  help  as  you  Ve  given  me.  We  're  not  such  a  bad 
lot,  if  we  only  knew  how  to  be  better.  But  it  takes  a 
man  like  you  to  straighten  us  out ;  and  men  like  you  never 


314  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

ought  to  see  the  inside  of  a  place  like  this.  No  matter 
what  it 's  been  to  me,  it 's  awful  hard  luck  on  a  man  like 
you." 

"  It  is  hard  luck,"  answered  Allston ;  "  but  I  tell  you,  Ray, 
there  is  a  grain  of  consolation  in  believing  that  my  ill  wind 
has  blown  some  good  to  you,  —  and  it 's  one  of  the  things 
that  comforts  my  wife." 


CHAPTER   XLIX. 


RELEASED. 

"  Now  my  voyage  is  wellnigh  over, 

And  my  stanchest  spars  are  gone ; 
And  my  sails  are  at  rest,  and  my  barnacled  barque 
Drags  slowly  and  heavily  on. 

"  The  faint  breeze  comes  from  the  distant  shore, 

With  its  odors  dim  and  sweet, 
And  soon  in  the  silent  harbor  of  peace 
Long-parted  friends  I  shall  greet." 

LLSTON'S  removal  to  the  library,  an  undisguised 
blessing  to  one  convict,  bore  very  different  re- 
sults in  another  direction.  Williams  was  not 
given  another  cell-mate.  A  dismal  loneliness 
settled  over  the  old  man  ;  he  pined  for  the  companionship 
of  the  steadfast  nature  upon  which  his  restless,  stormy  heart 
had  anchored.  His  old  longing  for  the  mountains  assailed 
him.  Do  what  he  would  to  forget  them,  their  peaceful 
heights  wooed  his  imagination  through  the  weary  hours  of 
work,  and  in  his  dreams  he  heard  the  whispers  of  the  wind 
and  the  calling  of  distant  birds  in  clear  space 

The  fiercer  fires  in  his  nature  were  deadened  embers; 
he  was  only  miserably  heartsick  and  homesick.  Books  and 
papers  ceased  to  interest  him.  In  vain  he  fixed  his  eyes 
on  a  page ;  the  words  were  blurred  by  memories,  the 


316  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

voices  of  the  past  sounded  louder  than  war-cries  of  the 
present. 

Weeks  drifted  into  months,  autumn  and  winter  passed, 
and  spring  melted  into  summer;  he  scarcely  noted  the 
changes  of  season,  except  that  in  June  the  days  seemed 
endlessly  long.  The  daily  task  of  work  became  more  and 
more  of  a  burden ;  the  hands  which  had  moved  quickly 
and  skilfully  grew  heavy  and  clumsy;  attention  flagged; 
the  mind  was  weary  as  the  body. 

There  came  a  day  when  he  failed  to  do  the  work  re- 
quired ;  the  next  day  it  was  the  same.  He  was  then  sent 
to  the  "  Solitary,"  and  kept  on  bread  and  water.  He  was 
conscious  of  gnawing  hunger,  and  of  a  throbbing  pain  in 
his  head ;  but  even  pain  was  dulled  by  utter  weariness. 

He  seemed  to  have  been  in  the  "  Solitary  "  for  a  month,  so 
indistinct  had  the  realization  of  the  present  become ;  but 
only  thirty-six  hours  had  passed  before  he  was  again  ordered 
back  to  work.  It  was  evident  enough  now  that  he  could 
not  work  ;  not  only  the  feeble  movements,  but  the  relaxed 
muscles  of  the  face  and  the  pitifully  dulled  and  wavering 
eyes  made  manifest  the  loss  of  power.  Powders  from  the 
doctor  were  given  him,  and  he  was  sent  to  one  of  the  cells 
reserved  for  the  sick.  His  writing-day  came  on  the  Sunday 
of  that  week,  and  he  wanted  to  answer  Mrs.  Allston's  letter ; 
but  his  hand  trembled,  and  the  light  was  dim.  He  could 
not  see  the  lines  on  the  paper  or  read  the  words  that  he 
wrote,  and  he  would  be  ashamed  to  send  her  anything 
that  he  could  not  himself  read.  He  overheard  one  of  the 
guards  remark :  "  I  guess  the  old  man 's  broken  down." 
He  understood  who  was  meant,  and  wondered  that  it 
seemed  of  so  little  matter  to  him. 

After  a  period  of  complete  rest  he  was  conscious  of  a 
slight  return  of  energy.  Time  hung  heavy,  and  it  was 
a  relief  when  he  was  assigned  light  work  about  the  cell- 


RELEASED. 


317 


house.  After  a  time  he  was  vaguely  aware  of  a  loss  of 
perception  :  occasionally  thoughts  would  be  clear,  and  per- 
sons remembered  in  their  proper  relations ;  but  more  often 
there  appeared  to  be  some  cloud  over  his  mind.  That 
young  Colonel  Allston  seemed  a  friend  of  long  ago,  —  not 
wearing  the  convict  dress,  but  in  a  dark  blue  uniform  with- 
out brass  buttons.  His  dreams  were  very  vivid,  and  some- 
times became  confused  with  memories.  He  could  not 
quite  assure  himself  whether  it  was  a  dream  or  a  memory, 
that  evening  when  Violetta  and  Colonel  Allston  were  stand- 
ing together  on  the  top  of  the  mountain,  so  clear  against 
the  pale  gold  sky;  and  when  he  called  them  they  went 
down  on  the  other  side. 

When  Mr.  Mclntyre  came  into  the  cell-house  and  spoke 
in  his  cheery,  cordial  fashion,  his  voice  seemed  to  set  things 
right.  It  was  easy  enough  then  to  remember  that  the 
Colonel  was  in  the  library,  and  that  every  day  he  sent  a 
friendly  message  to  his  old  cell-mate  through  Mr.  Mclntyre. 

For  some  time  the  message  sent  in  return  was :  "  Tell 
the  Colonel  I  'm  all  right,  and  like  this  easy  job  in  the  cell- 
house  ; "  but  later  the  messages  changed.  One  day  it  was  : 
"  Give  the  boy  my  love,  and  tell  him  I  'd  like  to  see  him  ; " 
and  again :  "  Ask  him  to  take  good  care  of  Violetta,  and 
have  him  tell  her  I  keep  her  in  remembrance  the  same  as 
always ; "  and  yet  again  :  "  Tell  him  I  'm  going  to  start  for 
the  Rockies  to-morrow,  and  I  '11  meet  him  somewhere  on 
the  mountains." 

At  that  time  he  had  grown  very  restless  and  irritable. 
He  did  not  like  to  do  his  work ;  he  did  not  like  to  have 
his  thoughts  called  back  from  the  mountains.  One  day  he 
was  scrubbing  stairs ;  his  hand  was  unsteady,  and  he  won- 
dered where  all  the  water  came  from.  Water  seemed  to 
be  rising  all  around  him.  He  stood  up  to  look,  his  foot 
slipped,  and  then  followed  a  great  blank. 


3  1 8  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

It  was  weeks  afterwards,  when  one  June  Sunday  morning 
consciousness  returned.  His  eyes  were  closed  ;  but  he  felt 
the  touch  of  a  woman's  hand,  and  he  murmured  "  Violetta." 
The  eyelids  seemed  so  heavy,  as  if  he  never  could  lift  them ; 
but  after  a  time  he  did  raise  them. 

At  first  his  vision  was  dim ;  but  as  it  grew  more  distinct 
he  whispered :  "  I  know  your  face ;  you  're  the  picture  the 
Colonel  had,  —  a  sweet  picture." 

Then  he  lay  quite  still,  with  his  eyes  open,  apparently 
trying  to  think.  "  Miss  Allston,"  he  said,  —  she  could 
barely  catch  the  feeble,  broken  words,  —  "I  used  to  think 
when  any  one  injured  me,  it  was  my  right  to  injure  him. 
I  think  different  now,  —  owing  to  the  Colonel.  I  used  to 
want  the  mountains,  —  but  in  the  Eternal  City  —  there  is 
peace ;  —  and  Violetta  is  there,  —  and  where  my  treasure 
is  —  there  will  my  —  heart  be." 

The  eyes  had  closed  again  while  he  was  speaking;  the 
hand  which  had  grasped  Katharine's  relaxed  its  hold ;  a 
shadow  fell  upon  the  face,  a  slight  vibration  passed  over 
the  form.  The  Angel  of  Light  silently  turned  the  keys, 
the  gates  were  opened,  the  imprisoned  soul  was  free. 

The  heroic  mould  of  the  head  and  face  was  strikingly 
evident  as  the  calm  majesty  of  death  asserted  itself.  The 
look  of  infinite  repose  seemed  a  reflection  of  the  Peace  of 
the  Eternal  City. 

"  I  shall  have  no  more  fears,"  thought  Katharine  Allston. 
She  turned  away,  thrilled  with  the  unfathomable  mystery 
of  death,  which  had  fallen  like  a  benediction  over  this 
worn-out  life. 


CHAPTER  L. 

ROWING  AGAINST  THE  TIDE. 


1FTER  the  first  half  of  Allston's  term  of  im- 
prisonment had  passed,  from  time  to  time  Mr. 
Dempster  agitated  the  subject  of  a  pardon. 

Robert  was  firm  in  his  refusal  to  have  any 
effort  made  towards  that  result,  and  the  lawyer  regarded 
this  determination  as  highly  Quixotic.  But  Robert  had 
considered  the  subject  on  all  sides,  and  could  reach  but 
one  conclusion,  —  unless  he  lost  his  health,  or  some  misfor- 
tune befell  Katharine,  he  wished  to  serve  out  his  sentence. 

It  was  hardest  to  resist  Katharine's  tender  arguments. 

"  Don't  urge  me  to  act  against  my  real  convictions  and 
sense  of  right,"  he  said  to  his  wife,  whose  presence  made 
all  else  seem  nothing  in  comparison.  "  I  want  your  help 
against  yourself,  darling,"  he  added.  "  Now  try  to  look  at 
the  matter  as  I  do.  My  sentence  is  just ;  and  if  I  were  a 
poor  man  whose  family  needed  me  for  daily  support,  there 
would  be  no  chance  of  my  release.  It 's  only  social  posi- 
tion and  influence  —  the  very  powers  in  life  which  should 
have  prevented  my  breaking  the  law  (the  law,  human  and 
divine,  dear),  —  it  is  only  those  violated  blessings  that  give 
me  an  advantage  over  poor  fellows  far  more  innocent  or 
ignorant  than  I,  and  far  more  in  need  of  liberty.  If  I  were 
the  Governor  I  would  not  grant  any  such  petition ;  how, 


320  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

with  self-respect,  could  I  ask  it?  I  can't  do  it.  I  have 
placed  myself  on  a  level  with  other  prisoners,  and  I  must 
stand  by  our  common  manhood." 

"  You  are  right,  you  are  always  right !  I  am  so  proud  of 
you,  Robert,"  answered  Katharine,  her  sympathy  kindling 
into  passionate  admiration ;  and  the  tears  that  had  gathered 
on  her  lashes  sparkled  with  light  as  she  looked  into  her 
husband's  face. 

"  Oh,  don't  make  a  hero  of  me  !  "  said  Robert,  with  a 
sudden  change  of  tone.  "  You  forget  —  there  's  another  rea- 
son ; "  he  flushed  deeply,  and  spoke  with  effort.  "  I  used  to 
think  the  old  idea  of  expiation  was  the  horrible  product  of 
a  pitiless,  crude  religion ;  but,  Katie,  it  is  something  that 
lives  in  our  souls ;  it  is  there,  and  we  can't  escape  it.  If  it 
be  possible,  I  want  to  expiate  my  sin."  His  voice  had  low- 
ered to  a  whisper,  and  his  eyes  were  averted.  It  was  the 
first  time  he  had  alluded  to  that  secret  feeling,  even  to 
Katharine. 

"  To  think  that  there  is  one  place  in  your  heart  that  even 
my  love  can't  reach  and  comfort,  Robert !  It  is  too 
hard  !  But  we  will  try  to  bear  anything  that  may  bring  you 
peace  in  the  end.  And  surely  peace  will  come." 

Away  from  her  husband,  Katharine  had  been  living  in 
lofty  and  radiant  air-castles  since  her  last  talk  with  Mr. 
Dempster ;  but  in  Robert's  presence,  and  looking  through 
his  eyes,  her  visions  faded,  and  she  resigned  all  hope  of 
changing  a  spiritual  reality  through  altered  conditions. 

Bear  it  as  they  might,  both  felt  that  their  sorrow  lived  in 
something  deeper  than  circumstances,  —  the  prison  and  the 
separation.  But  for  all  this  resolution,  held  so  firmly  when 
put  to  the  test,  Robert's  longing  for  liberty  grew  with 
every  month  of  imprisonment.  At  times  it  was  projected 
above  everything  else,  —  a  want  as  imperative  as  thirst  in  a 
desert ;  and  more  than  once,  when  his  writing-day  came, 


ROWING  AGAINST  THE    TIDE.  $21 

the  man  wrestled  with  the  powerful  temptation  to  open  the 
way  for  Mr.  Dempster  to  do  as  he  wished.  He  half  envied 
the  men  who  had  no  possible  chance  of  pardon. 

He  suffered  no  illness,  but  the  robust  vigor  of  his  youth 
had  succumbed  to  the  confinement ;  the  hard  labor  in  the 
shoe-shop  had  diminished  his  power  and  robbed  him  for- 
ever of  his  erect,  military  bearing ;  the  fountain  of  sponta- 
neous cheerfulness,  which  had  been  one  of  his  fortunate 
natural  gifts,  seemed  exhausted.  He  applied  to  himself 
the  popular  prison  maxim,  "  Take  one  day  at  a  time  ;  "  but 
often  the  burden  of  the  hundreds  of  days  that  had  passed, 
and  the  hundreds  of  days  still  dividing  him  from  liberty, 
would  unite  to  overwhelm  his  philosophy. 

Looking  aside  from  his  own  life  did  not  conduce  to 
cheerfulness.  So  closely  had  he  identified  himself  with  the 
great  body  of  humanity  shut  up  in  that  prison  that  in  a 
measure  he  suffered  with  the  whole  body,  —  as  every  gen- 
erous-hearted prisoner  must,  until  long  confinement  has 
dulled  all  perception  outside  the  kingdom  of  self. 

But  side  by  side  with  this  bond  of  brotherhood  existed 
the  desire  to  escape  from  it,  to  shake  himself  free  from  the 
dreadful  association.  Sometimes  he  wondered  if  the  whole 
scheme  of  imprisonment  for  crime  were  not  a  great  blunder 
of  the  race.  It  was  only  the  arbitrary,  nominal  distinction 
between  sin  and  crime  that  had  set  these  men  apart  from 
other  men. 

In  distributing  the  books,  he  had  learned  much  of  the 
character  of  individual  prisoners,  and  was  reaching  the  con- 
clusion that  their  nature  was  off  the  same  piece  with  the 
human  nature  of  the  world  at  large.  In  many  instances  he 
traced  in  these  men  and  their  failures  the  reverse  side  of 
qualities  which  in  other  men  had  won  success,  —  the  same 
reckless  daring  which  had  amassed  the  fortune  of  many  a 
speculator ;  the  same  ruling  spirit  of  greed  which,  checked 

21 


322 


HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 


within  the  limits  of  the  law,  grinding  the  poor  instead  of 
stealing  from  the  rich,  might  masquerade  unmolested  be- 
neath the  broadcloth  of  a  church  deacon.  One  of  the  most 
depraved  men  in  the  prison  reminded  him  vividly  and  pain- 
fully of  Irvington.  And  the  gentle,  feminine  element  so 
attractive  in  some  men,  he  found  in  the  prisoner  as  the  very 
unguarded  avenue  through  which  temptation  had  entered ; 
even  the  weak  and  shallow  men  who  had  fallen  a  prey  to 
their  own  vanity  or  extravagance,  were  but  the  unlucky 
counterparts  of  the  vain  and  shallow  fops  of  society. 

"  They  are  men  like  other  men,  on  a  lower  plane,  and 
at  an  immense  disadvantage  from  birth,  —  even  those  who 
are  neither  cranks  nor  feeble-minded,  as  so  many  of  them 
are ;  probably  a  quarter  of  them  are  here  only  because  they 
got  entangled  in  the  miserable  meshes  of  the  chicanery  of 
criminal  courts.  I  doubt  if  it  would  be  the  worse  for  the 
country  if  its  prisons  were  levelled,  the  insane  and  feeble- 
minded inmates  sent  to  asylums,  where  they  belong,  and 
the  untamable  desperadoes  sent  to  their  graves.  Do  you 
agree  with  me,  Mr.  Mclntyre?  or  have  I  fallen  so  low  in 
the  prison  as  to  have  lost  all  respect  for  law  and  order,  and 
all  sense  of  what  is  due  to  the  good  community  on  the  out- 
side?" said  Allston  to  the  Scotchman  one  day,  seeking  an 
outlet  for  his  own  turbulent  feelings  in  the  open  sympathy 
with  which  the  old  man  usually  greeted  his  opinions. 

"You're  getting  terribly  radical,  Colonel."  Mr.  Mc- 
lntyre had  adopted  Williams's  fashion  of  addressing  Allston 
by  his  military  title.  "  But  it 's  a  fact  that  our  prisons  prac- 
tise a  process  of  moral  extermination ;  and  what  these  poor 
fellows  need  is  the  training  and  development  of  the  good 
there  is  in  them,  and  the  instilling  of  good  not  in  them. 
This  rigidly  enforced  obedience  to  arbitrary  rule  don't 
teach  a  man  to  stand  on  his  feet,  or  qualify  him  to  resist 
the  pressure  of  temptation,  which  will  attack  him  as  surely 


ROWING  AGAINST  THE   TIDE.  323 

as  death  will  claim  him.  Discipline  means  something  more 
than  iron  rule ;  and  if  a  man's  spirit  is  once  fairly  broken, 
he  may  answer  as  a  convict,  but  he  's  of  no  account  as 
a  man." 

Thus  did  the  Scotchman,  from  a  prison  officer's  stand- 
point, discourage  the  radicalism  of  a  convict's  views. 


CHAPTER    LI. 

SUBSTITUTION. 

"  True  freedom  is  to  share 
All  the  chains  our  brothers  wear." 

j]AY  BLOOMER'S  successor  in  the  library  was 
not  an  enlivening  companion.  He  was  an  old 
man  by  the  name  of  Hawkins,  whose  stout  fig- 
ure and  seamless  face  afforded  an  almost  gro- 
tesque contrast  to  his  state  of  mind,  which  was  one  of 
unmitigated  and  unchanging  gloom.  Whenever  he  laid 
aside  his  habitual  reticence,  it  was  only  to  open  a  well  of 
sorrows  that  wearied  his  cell-mate,  although  with  every 
repetition  the  dull  misery  of  his  fate  was  borne  deeper  in 
upon  Allston's  consciousness. 

Before  the  two  men  had  been  together  for  a  year,  Allston 
was  possessed  of  the  story  of  Hawkins's  life  in  all  its 
wretched  details.  He  fell  into  the  habit  of  turning  it  over 
in  his  mind,  and  of  looking  at  the  situation  from  his  cell- 
mate's different  points  of  view.  The  great  misfortune 
which  had  fallen  upon  him  late  in  life  had  bewildered  the 
older  man,  who  alternately  pitied  and  condemned  himself. 

At  first  condemnation  was  strongest  in  Allston's  mind  ; 
but  gradually  pity  became  dominant  as  Hawkins  visibly 


SUBSTITUTION.  325 

succumbed  to  his  condition  and  daily  lost  courage  to  look 
forward  to  anything  beyond  the  prison.  At  every  evidence 
of  sympathy  on  Allston's  part  Hawkins  piled  the  weight  of 
his  sorrows  upon  the  younger  man's  shoulders,  until  the 
burden  became  almost  intolerable,  and  an  additional  temp- 
tation in  the  direction  of  seeking  an  avenue  of  escape  into 
liberty. 

This  temptation  had  never  so  nearly  overpowered  Robert 
as  one  Sunday  when  he  wrote  to  his  wife.  He  had  been 
thinking  of  Katharine  for  an  hour,  realizing  his  increasing 
need  of  her  companionship.  Her  buoyancy,  her  elasticity 
and  enthusiasm,  were  like  a  balsamic  atmosphere  to  his  spirit, 
at  once  a  balm  and  a  tonic.  He  was  homesick  for  the 
sound  of  her  voice,  for  the  touch  of  her  hand,  for  her 
bright  and  gentle  presence ;  homesick  for  that  fair  ideal 
life  with  her  which  always  lay  pictured  in  his  heart.  Life 
was  so  short ;  but  the  two  remaining  years  of  his  impris- 
onment seemed  interminable  !  And  how  different,  how 
precious  they  might  be,  spent  with  her,  if  he  should  send 
but  one  line  to  Mr.  Dempster.  And  what  but  a  morbid 
fancy,  an  outgrowth  of  the  prison,  held  him  from  writing 
that  line? 

With  wavering  decision  he  took  up  his  pencil  and  be- 
gan, "  My  dearest  Katharine  —  "  He  paused,  dropped 
his  pencil,  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  and  thought 
desperately. 

When  he  raised  his  head  there  was  a  pained,  irresolute 
look  in  his  eyes.  His  glance  fell  upon  Hawkins,  who  was 
reading  a  letter  from  home.  The  old  man's  round,  smooth 
cheeks  were  wet ;  a  big  tear  had  splashed  and  blotted  the 
page  over  which  he  bent ;  his  quivering  lips  half  formed  the 
words  he  was  reading. 

Allston's  expression  changed  as  he  watched  his  cell-mate  ; 
the  round  old  face,  with  its  look  of  pathetic,  helpless,  almost 


326  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

boyish  misery  reminded  him  of  Prince  Bulbo.  And  how 
vividly  through  all  the  intervening  years  came  back  to  him 
the  recollection  of  the  evening  when  his  father  first  read 
"  The  Rose  and  the  Ring  "  aloud  to  him,  a  little  boy.  His 
father,  —  what  a  good  man  he  was ;  how  brave  and  true  in 
spirit !  Never  before  had  the  character  of  his  father  stood 
out  before  him  so  clear-cut  and  strong ;  he  too  had  endured 
the  trial  of  separation  from  a  dearly  loved  wife,  the  stern  sep- 
aration of  death,  burying  his  own  sorrow,  and  making  the 
life  of  his  child  full  of  interest  and  delight. 

Again  Robert  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  and  was 
lost  in  reflection;  but  the  mists  of  his  own  longing  and 
temptation  had  scattered. 

When  once  more  he  looked  at  his  cell-mate,  Hawkins 
was  writing,  his  mouth  twisting  as  his  pen  moved  through 
the  words,  and  glazed  lines  ran  down  his  cheeks. 

Allston  took  up  his  pencil  and  looked  at  "  My  dearest 
Katharine."  He  felt  now  as  if  those  words  had  been  writ- 
ten by  some  one  else.  Every  trace  of  indecision  had 
passed  from  his  face,  and  the  pencil  moved  firmly  and  rap- 
idly as  the  letter  proceeded  :  — 

"  Do  you  remember  my  cell-mate  ?  I  think  you  have  seen 
him  in  the  library.  He  looks  like  Prince  Bulbo,  —  the  prince 
shorn  of  his  glory. 

"  I  want  you  to  get  him  back  to  his  family,  Katie.  There  's 
nothing  to  be  gained  by  his  being  here,  broken-hearted  old 
man  as  he  is.  He  can't  stand  it,  and  I  can't  either.  Come 
to  the  rescue  of  both  of  us,  and  get  him  out  if  you  can.  I  '11 
tell  you  what  to  do.  Go  down  to  New  Berlin  and  see  his 
family;  the  wife  is  an  invalid,  and  her  letters  are  terrible, — 
filled  with  reproaches  that  harrow  the  old  man  mercilessly. 
Stop  that  at  once,  as  you  can.  (Forgive  me  for  being  peremp- 
tory, dear,  for  space  is  limited.) 

"  Then  you  will  need  to  see  Mr.  Jacob  Krick,  the  prosecu- 
ting attorney,  who.  Hawkins  says,  is  a  good-natured  German  ; 


SUBSTITUTION.  327 

his  sympathies  must  be  enlisted  for  the  family  as  well  as  for 
the  prisoner.  The  trouble  will  be  with  Amos  Gridley,  whose 
money  Hawkins  used.  Hawkins  was  Gridley's  book-keeper, 
you  remember.  Mr.  Gridley  is  an  open  atheist,  and  gloats 
over  the  extinction  of  the  hapless  Baptist  light  who  was 
Sunday-school  superintendent  when  this  trouble  occurred. 
Naturally,  Mr.  Gridley  will  assure  you  that  Hawkins  is  a 
double-dyed  hypocrite.  But  I  know  that  he  feels  the  shame 
cast  on  his  religion  as  sharply  as  he  feels  his  own  fall ;  and 
it  was  a  fall  from  something  that  meant  to  be  Christianity. 
However,  no  one  could  convince  Mr.  Gridley  of  that.  You 
will  have  to  trust  to  your  own  perceptions  as  how  best  to  win 
over  Mr.  Gridley;  but  use  your  influence  to  the  utmost. 
After  you  have  made  this  beginning  you  can  put  the  whole 
matter  into  Mr.  Dempster's  hands,  and  tell  him  to  work  it  up 
as  he  would  work  up  my  case. 

"  Hawkins  lost  two  sons  in  the  army,  and  his  wife  has  been 
an  invalid  ever  since  the  nervous  shock  caused  by  the  loss  of 
her  favorite  boy.  They  are  poor,  and  have  had  a  hard  time 
in  every  way,  and  are  terribly  cut  up  by  the  disgrace.  Haw- 
kins has  seven  years  more  here  ;  and  if  he  is  not  out  soon,  he 
will  never  be  able  to  do  anything  for  his  family.  The  sen- 
tence was  severe  as  the  law  would  allow, — make  a  point  of 
that ;  and  also  of  the  fact  that  if  the  family  are  not  already 
dependent  upon  charity,  they  are  likely  to  become  so.  You 
can  further  assure  Mr.  Gridley  that  his  Baptist  book-keeper 
will  not  appear  in  New  Berlin  again  if  your  father  will  under- 
take the  responsibility  of  guaranteeing  him  a  situation  in 
Milwaukee ;  he  is  a  good  book-keeper.  Will  you  do  all  this 
for  me,  my  never-failing  better  half  ?  You  are  as  reliable  as 
you  are  lovable,  and  you  will  succeed  if  any  one  can." 

Allston's  patience  was  not  taxed  long  in  waiting  for  the 
reply  to  this  letter ;  within  the  week  his  answer  came. 

Notwithstanding  all  that  she  had  to  say,  Katharine's 
letter  was  begun  as  if  no  business  were  on  hand.  She  was 
not  thinking  of  any  suffering  cell-mate,  but  of  her  own 
husband,  as  she  wrote  :  — 


328  fffS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

" '  Don't  tell  me  that  you  have  found  a  mission,  Katie  ; 
anything  but  that!'  Does  my  own  dear  Robert  recognize 
these  words  ?  and  was  it  this  same  dear  Robert  who  wrote  me 
that  very  missiony  letter  which  I  received  from  Waupun  on 
Tuesday  ? 

"  And  you  resorted  to  baiting  your  hook  with  a  fairy  story  ! 
How  did  you  know  that  I  always  loved  poor  Prince  Bulbo 
better  than  the  all-conquering  Giglio  ?  Dorette  and  I  were 
reading  about  them  only  last  week,  and  my  heart  opened 
afresh  to  Bulbo. 

"  I  went  to  New  Berlin  all  primed  to  deliver  a  moral  lecture 
to  the  unwifely  Mrs.  Hawkins  ;  but,  Robert,  that  lecture  is  re- 
served for  future  use.  Within  ten  minutes  from  the  time  when 
I  sat  down  by  her  bedside,  my  tears  were  flowing  with  hers. 

"  If  ever  a  poor  woman  needed  sympathy  and  comfort,  she 
did  ;  she  has  never  allowed  any  one  to  speak  of  her  trouble  to 
her ;  she  has  just  turned  it  over  and  over  in  bitterness  of  spirit, 
mingling  it  with  an  awful  Calvinistic  feeling  that  will  not  allow 
her  to  soften  her  condemnation  of  her  husband. 

"  After  the  shower,  which  did  us  both  good,  I  told  her  our 
story;  and  then  I  was  hypocrite  enough  to  ask  her  if  she  did 
not  find  her  best  comfort  in  writing  cheering  letters  to  her 
husband  (now  don't  you  draw  any  inferences),  and  I  told  her 
how  deeply  you  felt  for  her  husband.  She  seemed  surprised 
and  touched  that  any  one  should  feel  for  him ;  it  appears  to 
be  an  odd  combination  of  morbid  religion  and  disappointed 
worldly  pride  that  makes  her  so  hard  towards  him. 

"The  two  little  boys  are  Prince  Bulbo  in  embryo;  and  the 
whole  support  of  the  family  rests  on  the  shoulders  of  the 
daughter  Nelly,  an  angular  girl  of  nineteen. 

"  Nelly  has  no  religion,  loves  her  father,  and  is  impatient 
with  her  mother ;  she  takes  in  sewing,  and  sews  as  awkwardly 
as  if  she  were  a  boy.  She  has  a  fair  education,  and  had  in- 
tended to  teach  ;  but  her  mother  cannot  now  be  left  alone,  and 
insists  that  in  their  disgrace  Nelly  need  not  hope  to  get  a 
school.  The  mother,  who  seems  to  have  been  an  accomplished 
needle-woman,  cannot  make  allowance  for  her  daughter's  inca- 
pacity in  that  direction. 


SUBSTITUTION,  329 

"  Nelly  knows  that  her  work  is  unsatisfactory,  and  that  it  is 
given  her  only  out  of  veiled  charity ;  and  she  says  that  with 
all  her  efforts  she  is  not  making  a  support  for  the  family.  I 
did  not  hesitate  to  promise  her  that  if  they  go  to  Milwaukee 
she  shall  have  a  chance  to  teach,  —  and  she  shall,  if  I  have  to 
start  a  private  school  for  her  myself ! 

"  The  poor  child  confided  to  me  the  rupture  of  an  engage- 
ment in  consequence  of  their  trouble.  The  young  man  is 
unwilling  to  give  her  up,  but  she  refuses  to  '  bring  disgrace  on 
him,'  and  will  not  see  him.  That  was  a  subject  on  which  I 
had  something  to  say,  and  I  believe  I  did  shake  her  convic- 
tions ;  but  my  experience  had  more  weight  with  her  than  my 
words. 

"To-morrow  I  go  to  New  Berlin  again  to  interview  the 
gentlemen  concerned  ;  and  you  shall  have  the  next  chapter  of 
my  proceedings  in  another  letter. 

"  Yours,  in  the  spirit  of  missions, 

"KATHARINE." 

And  then  followed  a  brief  postscript,  not  at  all  missionary 
in  spirit. 

Katharine  returned  from  her  second  visit  to  New  Berlin 
in  a  state  of  anxious  excitement.  Her  encounter  with  Mr. 
Amos  Gridley  was  unsatisfactory  in  the  extreme.  The 
superficial  urbanity  of  Mr.  Gridley's  manner  faintly  con- 
cealed the  antagonism  excited  as  Mrs.  Allston  unfolded  her 
errand.  He  listened  to  her  with  chilling,  unresponsive 
silence,  and  then  replied  in  a  dry,  hard  tone  :  — 

"  I  know  all  about  that  family  better  than  any  lady  from 
Milwaukee  can  know.  Our  prisons  are  made  for  just  such 
men  as  Hawkins.  There  are  enough  like  him  still  at  large, 
preying  upon  men  who  make  their  money  honestly.  I 
consider  that  I  served  the  State  well  in  prosecuting  this 
individual  to  the  extent  of  the  law.  Yes,  I  know  he  lost 
two  sons  in  the  war ;  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  them. 


33O  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

I  lost  a  son  in  the  army  too,  —  my  only  son,  —  and  I  have 
no  Baptist  expectations  of  celestial  reunion ;  but  my  loss 
did  n't  turn  me  into  a  thief." 

Mr.  Gridley  paused;  but  as  Mrs.  Allston  hesitated  to 
reply,  he  resumed,  lapsing  into  a  more  familiar  tone  :  "  I 
guess  you  '11  have  to  let  Hawkins  serve  out  his  time ;  and 
if  he  dies  before  the  end  of  it,  the  world  will  be  all  the 
better  off  without  him.  There  are  plenty  of  deserving 
people  to  be  looked  after,  without  interfering  with  the 
laws  and  going  into  prisons  to  pick  out  thieves  like  old 
Hawkins." 

Katharine  felt  as  if  she  had  drawn  her  ringers  across  the 
cold  blade  of  the  sword  of  Justice.  Under  Mr.  Gridley's 
pitiless  logic  her  own  position  became  indefensible  as  that 
of  Mr.  Hawkins.  But  with  an  instinctive  desire  to  con- 
ciliate the  enemy,  she  conceded  :  — 

"  Of  course  you,  whom  Mr.  Hawkins  has  injured,  cannot 
be  expected  to  see  this  matter  as  I  do ;  for  I  have  thought 
most  about  the  suffering  he  has  brought  upon  himself  and 
his  innocent  family.  I  '11  think  over  what  you  have  said, 
and  communicate  with  you  again." 

"  I  don't  know  as  there  is  anything  more  to  be  said  on 
the  subject.  There  's  usually  an  '  innocent  family '  in  such 
cases.  It 's  a  man's  business  to  think  of  his  innocent 
family  earlier  in  the  day.  I  took  my  position  when  I 
prosecuted  Hawkins,  and  I  am  not  the  man  to  back  down 
for  a  hypocritical  repentance." 

And  so  the  interview  was  closed.  With  drooping  spirits 
Katharine  pursued  her  way  over  to  the  office  of  Mr.  Jacob 
Krick,  finding  that  gentleman  enveloped  in  circling  clouds 
of  smoke,  with  his  feet  at  an  altitude  noticeably  above  his 
head.  Blushing,  bowing,  and  apologizing,  Mr.  Krick  as- 
sumed the  perpendicular,  and  offered  Mrs.  Allston  a  seat 
with  great  deference ;  and  he  listened  to  the  outline  of  the 


SUBSTITUTION.  3  3 1 

case  with  interest  apparently  as  fresh  as  if  he  had  taken  no 
part  in  the  conviction  of  the  prisoner. 

Perhaps  the  lady,  whose  sweet  face  looked  pale  and 
weary  and  troubled,  appealed  to  him  more  forcibly  than 
did  the  hardships  of  the  Hawkins's.  The  round  bright 
eyes  which  gazed  fixedly  through  a  large  pair  of  spectacles 
certainly  grew  sympathetic,  and  the  wearer  of  the  spectacles 
gave  Mrs.  Allston  a  comforting  assurance  of  friendliness 
towards  her  enterprise. 

Summing  up  warning,  advice,  and  self-justification  in  a 
Single  paragraph,  he  said  :  "  It  is  the  business  of  a  prose- 
cuting attorney  to  get  men  put  into  prison,  —  that  is  how  we 
make  our  living;  but  nothing  is  to  prevent  us  helping  to 
get  a  man  out  after  we  have  convicted  him.  But  that  man 
Gridley  is  like  flint;  he  is  hard,  you  cannot  penetrate 
him ;  he  has  no  humanity,  and  he  loves  his  money.  If 
Mr.  Hawkins  could  pay  back  his  money,  then  he  would 
let  him  go  free  ;  but  he  is  a  Shylock,  and  will  take  his  pay 
out  of  a  man's  body  and  soul  if  he  cannot  get  it  out  of  his 
pocket.  You  send  a  sharp  Milwaukee  lawyer  down  to  see 
him.  Ladies  can  move  the-  sentiments  of  a  man,  but  Mr. 
Gridley  has  no  sentiments ;  it  will  take  a  sharp  lawyer  to 
work  him.  Send  your  lawyer  to  me  also,  madam.  We 
will  make  a  grand  combination,  as  the  circus-poster  says. 
I  will  do  all  I  can  to  help  you  in  your  kind  benevolence. 
I  go  down  to  Milwaukee  now  and  then  for  a  little  music, 
and  through  Mr.  Voss  I  have  heard  of  you  and  your 
beautiful  musical  talent.  I  am  complimented  to  make 
your  acquaintance,  madam." 

And  so  the  enterprise  was  launched,  and  Katharine  was 
tossed  on  the  billows  of  alternate  hope  and  depression 
through  all  the  tedious  length  of  the  cruise. 

The  whole  congregation  of  the  Baptist  Church  were  ready 
to  reinforce  any  effort  on  behalf  of  their  fallen  brother, 


332  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

whom  they  had  known  as  a  faithful  worker  for  thirty  years. 
But  Mr.  Gridley  did  not  scruple  to  disseminate  an  insidious 
opposition  to  the  pardon.  Just  at  the  time  when  prompt 
and  energetic  action  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Dempster  was  most 
needed,  an  important  lawsuit  detained  him  in  Milwaukee, 
and  weeks  drifted  by  with  all  action  suspended  in  the  Haw- 
kins case.  Delays  and  discouragements  seemed  endless. 

With  unflagging  devotion  Katharine  endeavored  to  keep 
matters  advancing ;  and  feeling  responsible  to  Mrs.  Haw- 
kins and  Nelly  for  all  the  unfruitful  days,  she  kept  up  an 
unbroken  series  of  hopeful  letters  to  them,  however  unprom- 
ising the  outlook  seemed  to  herself. 

Even  Katharine  never  understood  how  Nelly  Hawkins 
contrived  to  make  the  ends  meet  during  those  months,  but 
the  family  managed  to  remain  independent  of  open  charity. 
Mrs.  Hawkins  was  prevailed  upon  to  receive  several  profes- 
sional visits  from  Dr.  Kennard,  and  through  following  his 
directions  her  health  and  spirits  were  slowly  improving ;  she 
was  even  able  to  give  Nelly  occasional  help  with  her  needle. 
Nelly's  flagging  courage  revived  under  the  inspiration  of 
Mrs.  Allston's  influence,  and  while  she  refused  direct  assist- 
ance from  her  friend  for  other  members  of  the  family,  she 
gratefully  accepted  comforts  and  delicacies  for  the  invalid. 
As  the  small  house  in.  which  they  lived  had  been  deeded  to 
Mrs.  Hawkins  in  days  of  greater  prosperity,  it  seemed  best 
that  the  family  should  struggle  along  in  New  Berlin  as  long 
as  the  father  was  absent.  More  than  half  a  year  passed 
before  Mr.  Dempster  finally  prevailed  upon  Amos  Gridley 
to  withdraw  his  opposition  to  the  pardon,  and  the  petition 
was  presented  to  the  Governor. 

It  was  during  Mr.  Dempster's  absence  at  Madison  that 
the  suspense  of  all  concerned  reached  its  climax.  Katha- 
rine tormented  herself  with  the  question,  "  How  shall  I  ever 
face  and  comfort  all  the  disappointed  hopes  if  the  Governor 


SUBSTITUTION.  333 

gives  a  definite  refusal?"  Mr.  Hawkins  in  the  prison,  and 
Nelly  in  her  shabby  home,  could  neither  eat  nor  sleep  for 
feverish  impatience,  and  the  rotundity  of  Mr.  Hawkins's  form 
was  noticeably  reduced.  At  this  time  Allston  felt  that  the 
risk  of  failure  balanced  heavily  against  the  hope  of  success, 
and  feared  that  his  effort  to  help  his  cell-mate  might  end  by 
plunging  him  into  hopeless  despair. 

When  the  eagerly  anticipated  news  from  Madison  came, 
it  was  only :  "  The  Governor  refuses  to  consider  the  peti- 
tion at  present.  He  is  overwhelmed  with  other  business ; 
and  as  he  has  already  been  criticised  for  his  free  use  of  the 
pardoning  power,  he  is  inclined  to  be  conservative." 

Katharine  tempered  this  communication  in  forwarding  it 
to  Nelly  Hawkins ;  but  she  admitted  to  herself  that  the 
craft  which  carried  their  hopes  seemed  fatally  becalmed. 

When  several  months  had  passed,  Mr.  Dempster  went  on 
another  fruitless  trip  to  Madison.  "  The  Governor  does  not 
positively  refuse  to  grant  the  petition,"  he  reported ;  "  he 
only  argues  that  there  are  fifty  or  more  cases  equally  deserv- 
ing awaiting  his  consideration,  and  that  there 's  no  reason 
for  giving  preference  to  Mr.  Hawkins." 

Katharine  knitted  her  brows  and  closed  her  lips  into  an 
inflexible  line.  "  I  'm  not  going  to  give  the  thing  up  now," 
she  announced  with  determination  as  undaunted  as  if  their 
efforts  had  never  been  baffled. 

"  There 's  only  one  resource  left  us.  You  must  go  to  see 
the  Governor  yourself,  Mrs.  Allston ;  you  may  succeed 
where  I  have  failed." 

"  No,  I  '11  do  better  than  that,  I  '11  wait  another  month ; 
and  then  —  "  Her  eyes  were  lighted  with  a  fresh  inspiration. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Katharine  four  weeks  later,  "  I  want  you 
to  go  to  Madison  with  me  to-morrow.  I  want  you  to  inter- 
cede with  the  Governor  for  Mr.  Hawkins.  You  will  suc- 
ceed ;  people  always  do  as  you  wish." 


334  fffs  BROKEN  SWORD. 

When  Mrs.  Kennard  came  out  of  the  Governor's  office, 
her  eyes  clearly  revealed  her  success.  Katharine  was  wait- 
ing in  an  ante-room. 

"He  has  promised,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Kennard.  And 
then,  as  they  stepped  out  into  the  September  sunshine,  she 
continued :  "  The  Governor  received  what  I  said  about 
Mr.  Hawkins  and  his  family  with  no  comment.  He  only 
asked  me  why  I  was  especially  interested  in  this  very  ordi- 
nary case.  And  then  I  told  him  about  Robert,  and  how 
he  would  not  ask  for  his  own  release,  but  had  enlisted  your 
help  for  his  cell-mate.  The  Governor's  expression  changed 
while  I  was  telling  him  this ;  he  looked  grave  and  inter- 
ested. And  when  I  had  finished  speaking,  he  sat  for  a  few 
moments  in  silent  consideration ;  then  he  said,  '  The  par- 
don shall  be  sent  to  the  prison  to-morrow,'  and  he  shook 
hands  with  me  at  parting,  with  a  beautiful  gentleness  of 
manner." 


CHAPTER  LII. 

CUPID    TRIES  A  VIOLIN. 

| HEN  Allston  returned  to  his  cell  the  evening 
after  Hawkins  had  left,  he  felt  a  grim  sense  of 
having  cheated  himself.  But  the  thought  of 
the  mournful  old  man  back  in  his  cell  alone, 
and  of  Nelly  Hawkins  fighting  her  losing  battle,  convinced 
him  that  he  should  never  regret  his  action  in  that  matter. 

Katharine  was  doing  her  best  to  share  with  her  husband 
whatever  was  bright  and  interesting  in  her  own  existence. 
She  had  made  him  feel  almost  personally  acquainted  with 
the  gay  Baltimore  cousins,  who  with  their  frivolities  and 
their  admirers  had  animated  the  Kennard  mansion  into 
new  life,  and  given  Mrs.  Kennard  a  fresh  avenue  for  her 
liberal  hospitality.  Katharine  entered  into  all  that  con- 
tributed to  the  happiness  of  the  home  as  generously  as  she 
gave  herself  to  her  prison  friends,  and  she  detailed  to  her 
husband  with  equal  spirit  the  rise  and  progress  of  the 
Jessup  family,  and  the  brilliant  flirtations  and  conquests  of 
Anastasia  Benton ;  nor  did  she  hesitate  frankly  to  relate 
some  of  her  dismal  failures  in  philanthropic  ventures.  Her 
varied  interests  vitalized  and  strengthened  each  other,  and 
Robert  realized  that  ever  the  current  of  her  life  grew 
stronger,  and  its  surface  broader.  He  could  see  her  old 


336  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

restlessness  passing  away,  and  her  sunny  animation  more 
steadily  resting  upon  a  foundation  of  repose.  It  was  a 
wonder  to  him  how,  with  all  her  increasing  cares  and  duties, 
she  yet  contrived  to  keep  the  sunlight  in  her  soul ;  even 
her  undisguised  longing  for  him  was  tempered  now  with  a 
sweet  patience  and  faith  that  touched  him  inexpressibly. 

In  looking  back  to  the  theories  and  aspirations  of  her 
girlhood,  Katharine  herself  felt  that  in  the  translation  of  her 
ideals  into  actual  life  they  had  lost  something  of  their  orig- 
inal purity  and  grace.  Her  life  was  less  divine  than  she 
had  meant  it  to  be ;  perhaps  others  found  it  more  tenderly 
human. 

She  took  good  care  that  Robert  should  keep  the  thread 
of  old  friendships.  He  had  not  lost  trace  of  Mrs.  Vandyne 
after  she  was  Mrs.  Dr.  Baxter ;  he  heard  all  about  her  every 
time  she  came  to  her  old  home  for  the  lake  breezes,  bring- 
ing with  her  of  late  years  a  beautiful  boy. 

And  through  Katharine's  letters  he  had  followed  with 
interest  the  later  love-affair  of  Dora  Crissfield,  and  with 
amused  sympathy  the  manner  in  which  Mr.  Voss  had 
conducted  his  tender  siege. 

It  had  taken  time  for  Mr.  Voss  to  rally  from  his  dis- 
appointment over  the  pre-occupied  affections  of  Mrs. 
Vandyne,  his  "  Dorothea ; "  but  when  he  transferred  his 
devotion,  it  was  with  a  right  good  will. 

Miss  Crissfield's  refusal  of  his  first  offer  served  only  to 
deepen  his  earnestness.  "  I  have  the  right  to  devote  my- 
self to  you  now,  since  you  know  that  I  love  you,"  was  his 
justification. 

He  bought  a  charming  cottage  across  the  street  from 
Dora's  rooms,  and  renewed  his  proposal.  Again  he  was 
refused.  He  found  a  good  housekeeper  and  established 
himself  in  the  new  domicile,  making  the  home  as  attractive 
as  possible;  and  he  spent  all  his  spare  time  between  his 


CUPID    TRIES  A    VIOLIN.  337 

violin  and  the  garden,  which  he  cultivated  especially  for 
the  lady  opposite.  Every  morning  she  received  a  basket 
of  dewy  flowers ;  every  day  he  contrived  to  meet  her,  and 
with  unvarying,  cheerful  friendliness. 

Dora  in  the  mean  time  grew  restless  and  pale.  She 
worked  too  hard,  and  was  out  of  spirits,  tired,  and  nervous. 
She  felt  helpless  in  the  presence  of  the  frank  and  serene 
good-nature  of  her  unchangeable  admirer. 

One  warm,  rainy  evening  she  sat  alone  in  her  room  in 
the  dull  twilight.  Her  head  ached,  and  she  felt  wretchedly 
tired  and  lonely.  In  her  lap  lay  a  great  bunch  of  car- 
nations, their  spicy  fragrance  surrounding  her;  but  their 
companionship  was  not  soothing. 

Across  the  way  Mr.  Voss  was  a  prisoner  with  a  sprained 
ankle  ;  she  had  not  seen  him  for  a  week. 

All  at  once  through  the  twilight  came  a  strain  of  violin 
music,  the  fragment  of  a  song.  What  were  the  words? 

"  Come  to  me,  darling! 
I  'm  lonely  without  you." 

And  then  there  was  a  pause.  Again  that  line  of  melody 
was  repeated  in  the  penetrating,  entreating  tones  of  the 
violin. 

While  the  last  notes  were  still  vibrating,  Dora  brushed 
her  hand  across  her  wet  eye-lashes,  caught  up  a  light  shawl, 
and  went  out.  She  crossed  the  street  and  entered  the 
open  door-way,  then  hesitated.  "  Come  ! "  said  the  violin  ; 
and  Dora  followed  the  sound  through  the  dim  light  into 
the  library. 

"  I  have  come.  I  don't  want  you  to  be  lonely  any  more," 
she  said  in  an  unsteady  voice. 

The  next  day  Dora  related  this  little  episode  to  Kath- 
arine, with  the  comment :  "  To  be  telling  you  all  this  after 
the  early  romance  that  I  once  confided  to  you,  seems 

22 


338  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

absurd,  and  I  know  that  you  are  thinking,  with  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing, 'They  never  loved  who  say  that  they  loved  once.' 
But,  my  dear,  neither  you  nor  Mrs.  Browning  can  judge  of 
the  woman  who  dares  to  say  she  has  loved  twice." 

This  final  scene  in  the  courtship  could  not  be  told  in  a 
letter,  but  was  given  Robert  in  one  of  Katharine's  visits. 

But  all  his  wife's  efforts  could  not  counteract  the  effects 
of  Robert's  imprisonment ;  the  reflection  of  her  life  could 
not  alter  the  outlines  of  his. 

The  last  year  of  his  confinement,  like  the  last  year  of 
every  prison  sentence,  seemed  endless,  and  harder  to  bear 
as  day  succeeded  day.  The  sense  of  approaching  freedom 
excited  irrepressible  restlessness  and  feverish  impatience, 
which  in  turn  reacted  upon  his  physical  strength.  Self- 
control  grew  more  difficult  through  the  interminable  hours. 
Unreasoning  fears  assailed  and  tormented  him.  The  very 
thought  of  liberty  brought  its  own  torture  in  an  unconquer- 
able dread  of  meeting  the  world  under  the  disgrace  of 
having  been  a  convict.  The  prison  experience  overcast 
all  hope  of  the  future. 

Even  Katharine's  visits  ceased  to  be  a  source  of  unalloyed 
pleasure,  as  after  them  Robert  felt  with  renewed  sharpness 
the  painful  contrast  between  himself  and  her;  and  then 
would  follow  the  fear  that  in  freedom  he  might  fail  to  realize 
her  hopes  and  expectations. 

He  simply  adored  his  wife,  retaining  all  the  lover-like 
admiration  for  her  delicate  refinement  of  person  and  dress, 
and  her  winning  graces ;  she  was  to  him  the  perfect  flower 
of  womanhood.  It  seemed  sacrilege  to  think  of  himself, 
the  convict  of  eight  years,  with  all  the  prison  associations 
clinging  to  him,  as  her  equal  and  companion.  What  if  she 
too  should  feel  this  when  their  lives  were  in  actual  contact  ? 
He  tried  to  smother  this  haunting  fancy,  but  its  shadow 
crept  into  one  of  his  letters  when  he  wrote  :  — 


CUPID    TRIES  A    VIOLIN.  339 

"  As  I  think  about  our  marriage,  I  wonder  how  I  can  in  the 
future  be  to  you  what  you  are  to  me,  how  I  can  ever  atone  for 
all  that  you  have  endured  and  all  that  you  have  lost  through 
me.  It  seems  hard  that  I  should  take  you  away  from  your 
happy  and  beautiful  home  into  my  own  untried  future,  away 
with  me,  dear. 

"  I  know  you  have  thought  about  it ;  but  I  want  you  to  know 
that  I  think  about  it  too,  and  that  I  realize  that  your  love  for 
me  is  a  life-long  sacrifice.  My  darling,  I  shall  never  forget 
that." 

Katharine  thought  over  these  words  for  a  long  time ;  it 
was  with  an  overflowing  heart  that  she  wrote  in  reply : 

Did  you  think  to  frighten  me  when  you  wrote,  "  I  shall  take 
you  away  with  me  "  ?  Do  you  know,  dear,  when  I  say  those 
words,  "away  with  you,"  over  to  myself,  and  think  how  soon 
they  will  come  true,  it  is  hard  to  realize  any  need  of  a  heaven 
beyond,  —  for  me,  at  least. 

And  as  to  "what  I  have  endured  and  lost  through  you," 
oh !  have  you  not  known  what  you  have  been  to  me  all  these 
years,  Robert?  The  old  ideal  lover  was  a  mere  shadow  com- 
pared to  the  husband  whose  strength  and  tenderness,  whose 
beautiful  love,  has  been  the  life  of  my  life. 

What  hero  of  war,  cruel  war,  can  stand  beside  one  who  day 
by  day  has  silently  fought  and  conquered  remorse  and  degra- 
dation ;  who  has  borne  the  loss  of  all  that  is  dear  to  the  pride 
and  ambition  of  manhood ;  who  has  looked  onward  and  up- 
ward and  reached  out  to  help  others  while  enduring  the  most 
terrible  fate?  All  these  years  in  prison  you  have  lived  in 
divine  patience  and  unselfishness.  Who  knows  that  half  as 
well  as  I  ?  Do  you  suppose  that  in  prosperity  I  could  ever 
have  known  or  loved  you  as  I  know  and  love  you  now  ? 

I  can  never  tell  you  what  courage  and  faith  and  hope,  what 
blessed  inspiration,  you  have  given  me  ;  but  it  is  a  part  of  our 
eternity. 

Not  a  book  have  I  read  but  its  meaning  has  been  deep- 
ened through  the  influence  of  your  mind  over  mine.  Have 


340  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

I  not  written  you  every  thought  ?  And  many  a  half-thought 
has  developed  into  completeness  only  when  brought  to  you. 

This  dear  and  beautiful  companionship  has  sustained  me 
every  hour;  if  a  moment  of  gloom  or  weariness  overpowered 
me,  I  found  light  and  rest  in  the  remembrance  that  you  were 
keeping  me  in  your  heart. 

I  have  learned  to  trust  you  so  completely  that  if  you  had 
been  taken  from  life,  O  my  darling !  I  know  that  your  love 
would  have  found  me  and  held  me  still.  This  gift  of  love  is 
ours  forever. 

Do  you  remember  those  words  of  Robert  Weeks,  — 

"  There 's  much  in  having,  but  more  in  love ; 
And  love  can  be,  so  it  seems  to  me, 
Complete  without  possessing." 

And  yet,  dear,  how  sweet  it  will  be  to  feel  the  touch  of 
your  hand  every  day,  to  hear  your  voice,  to  have  you  near  me 
always!  It  will  be  such  happiness,  the  harvest  of  all  these 
years,  to  go  "  away  with  you." 

If  you  are  summing  up  the  past  eight  years  in  your  thoughts, 
there 's  one  comfort  you  must  cherish,  —  that  the  dark  chapter 
in  your  life  has  given  light  to  more  than  one  poor,  friendless 
being. 

Ray  Bloomer  called  here  last  evening.  I  succeeded  in  ad- 
dressing him  as  Mr.  Hoyne,  and  he  spoke  of  you  in  a  way 
that  brought  the  glad  tears  to  my  eyes.  And  oh,  Robert,  he 
took  such  a  fancy  to  Dorette  !  He  could  scarcely  look  at  any 
one  else  ;  and  when  he  bid  me  good-bye  he  said,  "  Would  you 
and  the  Colonel  object  if  I  should  fall  in  love  with  that  charm- 
ing young  girl  ?  I  'm  afraid  I  shall." 

I  told  him  that  our  Dorette  at  fifteen  was  too  young  to  have 
a  lover. 

Dearest,  I  could  write  to  you  forever.  How  many  printed 
volumes  do  you  suppose  all  my  letters  to  you  would  make  ? 

Good-night !    In  thought  keep  always  near 

Your  own 

KATIE. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

KATHARINE  TAKES  UP  THE  GUANTLET. 

|HE  courageous  resignation  with  which  Mrs.  All- 
ston  endured  her  own  trial  was  not  extended  to 
wrongs  which  she  believed  could  be  remedied. 
Year  after  year  she  had  grown  into  a  clearer 
understanding  of  the  manifold  evils  of  prison  life.  Her 
feeling  on  that  subject  grew  more  intense  with  her  increas- 
ing experience. 

Once,  when  inadvertently  challenged,  she  came  forward 
in  the  defence  of  her  prison  friends  with  an  intrepid  spirit 
and  fearless  assertion  that  astonished  herself.  This  occurred 
one  Sunday  at  the  Warden  House,  when  she  was  engaged 
in  conversation  with  a  Madison  lawyer  who  knew  nothing 
of  her  relation  to  the  prison. 

She  listened  as  Mr.  Barrymore  discoursed  at  length  upon 
the  burden  imposed  upon  society  by  men  who  committed 
repeated  small  crimes  for  which  they  received  repeated  short 
sentences. 

The  lawyer  emphatically  stated  that  it  was  an  accepted 
fact  that  under  present  prison  systems  a  man  was  made  only 
the  worse  by  one  term  of  imprisonment ;  after  two  terms  he 
was  still  worse  and  more  dangerous ;  therefore,  let  the  State 


342  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

pass  a  law  that  on  a  third  conviction  the  man  should  be  sen- 
tenced for  life. 

The  lawyer  paused,  heated  with  the  force  of  his  opinions, 
and  looked  to  Mrs.  Allston  for  confirmation  of  his  views. 
The  lady  raised  her  hazel  eyes  to  his  for  a  moment  with  an 
inscrutable  expression,  and  she  was  a  little  paler  than  usual. 

She  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  but  there  was  an  ominous  vi- 
bration in  her  tone  as  she  said  :  "  Assuming  that  you  are 
aware  of  what  life-imprisonment  means,  a  free  translation  of 
your  view  is :  '  Let  our  rights  and  safety  be  protected,  re- 
gardless of  cost  to  others/  Do  you  know,  I  understand 
your  position?  I  hear  so  much  of  that  kind  of  argument 
among  my  friends  who  are  thieves  and  burglars." 

Mr.  Barrymore's  face  expressed  blank  surprise ;  but  with- 
out a  pause  Mrs.  Allston  continued,  — 

"  They  assert  their  privilege  to  live  and  enjoy  themselves, 
regardless  of  the  rights  of  others.  It  is  all  very  familiar  to 
me,  this  line  of  reasoning ;  but  I  am  not  yet  ready  to  in- 
dorse it.  I  think  it  is  the  philosophy  of — his  Satanic  Ma- 
jesty, whether  it  comes  from  the  top  of  the  ladder,  or  from 
the  bottom ;  whether  it  is  backed  by  the  State  House  or 
by  the  revolver.  I  even  go  so  far  as  to  believe  that  a  man 
who  poisons  his  wife  injures  the  community  less  than  one 
who  poisons  public  opinion  by  advocating  the  course  you 
suggest.  Pardon  me  if  I  am  too  personal,  but  I  know 
what  life-sentences  are,"  she  added  gently,  with  a  wave  of 
color  returning  into  her  face. 

Mr.  Barrymore  listened  in  a  sort  of  breathless  amazement, 
feeling  as  if  he  had  accidentally  touched  an  electrical  spring, 
and  was  receiving  the  full  charge  in  his  own  person. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked,  to  fill  in  the  pause. 

"  I  mean  this.  It  would  be  legalizing  extreme  injustice. 
Do  we  open  the  way  for  a  released  prisoner  to  make  an 
honest  living?  We  have  not  the  courage  to  give  him  a 


KATHARINE    TAKES  UP   THE   GAUNTLET.     343 

chance.  It  is  easier  for  us  to  close  our  doors,  to  force  him 
back  into  crime ;  and  it  is  a  trouble  and  an  expense  to  send 
him  repeatedly  for  repeated  offences :  it  is  easier  to  sen- 
tence him  for  life.  But  what  becomes  of  the  man?  Life 
deprived  of  all  that  gives  it  value  is  worse  than  death. 
Prompt  execution  is  more  merciful  than  a  lingering  process 
of  destruction.  If  life- imprisonment  meant  a  rational  exis- 
tence under  conditions  fostering  moral  and  physical  health, 
I  should  perhaps  agree  with  you.  It  actually  means  existence 
under  conditions  which  in  ten  years  —  I  give  a  liberal  aver- 
age —  renders  a  man  physically  incapable  of  industry,  para- 
lyzes his  moral  nature,  and  frequently  wrecks  his  mind ;  he 
is  simply  a  burden  on  the  State,  whether  supported  in  a  prison 
or  an  insane  asylum,  or  pardoned  and  taken  into  a  poor- 
house.  As  the  basis  of  your  argument  you  state  that  one 
and  two  short  imprisonments  nurture  crime  and  develop  crim- 
inals :  that  is  true  ;  it  is  equally  true  that  under  life-sentences 
self-reliance  is  eliminated,  energy  sapped,  and  the  essential 
qualities  of  manhood  destroyed.  All  this  reflects  upon  the 
prison-systems  more  than  upon  the  men  imprisoned." 

"  You  take  this  matter  very  seriously,"  responded  the  law- 
yer, not  ready  with  any  argument  in  reply. 

"  It  is  serious,  —  serious  in  its  effects.  The  reactionary 
influence  of  our  prisons  upon  the  community  is  an  evil 
which  must  inevitably  assert  itself  in  time.  We  may  realize 
the  injury  we  are  doing  when  the  evil  has  grown  strong 
enough  to  turn  the  tide  against  us." 

"  But  what  measures  would  you  advocate  for  the  suppres- 
sion of  crime  ?  "  asked  the  bewildered  lawyer. 

"  First  of  all,  we  need  to  recognize  the  established  fact 
that  many  of  our  convicts  are  diseased  or  enfeebled  men- 
tally. They  should  be  taken  out  of  our  prisons  and  placed 
in  conditions  adapted  to  their  needs.  Criminals  are  men, 
and  the  safest  and  best  methods  of  dealing  with  men  have 


344 


HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 


been  indicated  by  the  New  Testament.  Social  science  has 
light  to  throw  on  the  subject  also.  Society  will  never  be 
protected  by  selfishness  arrayed  against  selfishness.  We 
must  use  other  weapons,  and  work  for  a  higher  purpose 
than  self-protection,  or  we  defeat  our  own  ends." 

"  I  doubt  if  religion  and  crime  would  mix  well  together. 
I  don't  believe  much  in  sentiment  myself." 

The  lawyer  made  this  remark  with  the  air  of  having  closed 
all  argument  and  finally  disposed  of  the  whole  question. 

"Who  is  she,  anyway?"  Mr.  Barrymore  asked  of  the 
warden  as  Katharine  left  the  room. 

"  She  is  the  wife  of  a  convict." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  She  seems  very  clever  in  her  way ; 
but  I  did  n't  hear  half  she  said  because  I  was  watching  her 
changes  of  color,  and  wondering  why  she  did  n't  raise  her 
voice  when  she  was  so  much  in  earnest." 

"  That 's  not  her  way,"  replied  the  warden,  "  and  it 's 
not  her  way  to  get  drawn  into  discussions  either ;  I  never 
heard  her  express  her  views  before.  She  has  had  some 
talks  with  me.  She  has  been  studying  prison  problems 
with  her  warm  heart  and  her  clear  head  for  eight  years,  and 
she  has  a  fearless  way  of  applying  the  principles  of  Chris- 
tianity to  these  questions.  But  she  has  studied  reformatory 
systems  of  Europe,  and  intrenches  herself  behind  very 
solid  statistics.  She  knows  that  moral  education  is  prac- 
ticable ;  that  reformatory  measures  do  produce  satisfactory 
results ;  that  crime  and  its  immense  attendant  expenses 
can  be  reduced,  —  in  fact,  she  has  as  straight  a  road  to  her 
moral  measures  through  political  economy  as  through 
Christianity." 

"These  men  impose  upon  her,  of  course,"  remarked 
Mr.  Barrymore. 

"  To  some  extent  they  do ;  she  leaves  a  margin  for  that 
in  her  calculations.  But  she  would  rather  risk  helping  the 


KATHARINE    TAKES  UP  THE   GAUNTLET.     345 

wrong  man  than  refusing  one  worthy  of  assistance.  Mrs. 
Allston  is  a  person  who  would  hold  herself  responsible  for 
the  good  she  might  have  done." 

In  another  encounter,  under  similar  circumstances, 
Katharine  herself  received  a  sharp  cut  from  popular 
prejudice. 

At  dinner  she  happened  to  be  seated  next  a  very  agree- 
able man,  who  was  particularly  enthusiastic  on  the  subject 
of  music.  Mr.  Skeeles  did  not  often  find  a  listener  so  re- 
sponsive as  this  lady,  whose  name  he  had  not  understood 
when  introduced,  and  he  was  charmed  with  her  account  of 
an  hour  she  had  passed  with  Rubinstein  at  the  house  of  a 
musician  in  Milwaukee  the  week  previous,  and  with  the 
delightful  imitation  of  foreign  accent  in  which  she  repeated 
several  remarks  of  the  great  musician. 

As  they  left  the  dining-room  for  the  parlor,  Mr.  Skeeles 
observed  that  his  new  acquaintance  seemed  to  lose  interest 
in  the  conversation.  To  engage  her  attention  he  changed 
the  subject. 

"  By  the  way,  madam,"  he  inquired  affably,  "do  the  ladies 
in  Milwaukee  fall  in  love  with  prisoners?" 

"Not  that  I  am  aware  of,"  replied  Katharine,  instantly 
on  guard. 

"  They  do  in  Fond-du-Lac,"  Mr.  Skeeles  continued.  "  I 
am  a  lawyer  and  an  observer,  and  I  've  seen  too  much  of 
that  sort  of  thing.  I  knew  one  lady  who  even  went  the 
length  of  going  to  court  and  shaking  hands  with  a  prisoner 
every  day  during  his  trial.  It  was  true  the  man  was  an  old 
friend  whom  she  had  known  all  her  life ;  but  such  sym- 
pathy with  criminals  is  disgusting  sentimentality." 

As  he  spoke,  the  man  was  noting  with  artistic  pleasure 
and  appreciation  how  well  the  color  of  his  companion's 
dress  suited  her  ivory  complexion  and  her  beautiful  hair ; 
but  a  change  in  her  expression  gave  him  a  thrill  of  warning, 


346  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

and  his  concluding  words  grated   harshly  upon   his  own 
ear. 

Flushing  slightly,  Katharine  replied  in  a  cold,  unwavering 
tone,  which  of  itself  reared  a  wall  of  ice  between  herself 
and  her  listener :  "  I  am  one  Milwaukee  lady  who  is  very 
deeply  in  love  with  a  prisoner.  I  am  here  to-day  to  see  a 
prisoner  —  my  husband ;  and  not  to  see  him  only,  but  to 
visit  others  less  fortunate  than  Colonel  Allston  in  having 
friends." 

Apology  was  hopeless.  Mr.  Skeeles  completely  lost  his 
self-possession,  stung  by  the  recoil  of  a  missile  which  had 
been  aimed  at  a  class  that  he  despised,  and  in  their  very 
midst  had  struck  this  woman  who  had  excited  his  admir- 
ation. He  felt  like  a  brute  as  the  chivalry  in  his  nature 
arose  in  her  defence. 

Katharine  turned  to  an  adjacent  window.  She  paused 
for  a  moment ;  the  discomfiture  of  her  assailant  appealed 
to  her  generosity  even  through  her  resentment.  She  could 
forgive  the  unintentional  personal  attack,  but  her  indig- 
nation flamed  at  the  deliberate  slur  cast  upon  other  women ; 
and  she  only  bowed  in  acknowledgment  of  the  low  "I 
beg  your  pardon  "  which  reached  her  as  she  passed  Mr. 
Skeeles  on  her  way  to  the  door  and  to  Robert. 

But  Mrs.  Allston  was  not  usually  in  antagonism  with  law- 
yers. Mr.  Dempster  was  one  of  her  warmest  friends,  and 
many  a  long  talk  she  had  with  Judge  Wentworth,  in  whom 
she  found  the  most  cordial  sympathy  with  her  feelings  and 
opinions. 

It  was  one  of  the  landmarks  in  her  memory,  the  day 
when  she  first  compared  her  own  experience  with  that  of 
Judge  Wentworth,  and  found  that  from  opposite  sides  of 
the  question  they  had  reached  identical  conclusions.  Re- 
viewing twenty  years  of  judicial  life,  the  judge  made  the 
frank  admission  :  — 


KATHARINE    TAKES   UP   THE   GAUNTLET,     347 

"  At  first  I  looked  upon  criminals  as  belonging  to  a  dif- 
ferent order  of  beings  from  myself;  but  I  have  gradually 
learned  that  they  are  men  such  as  I,  —  that  the  difference 
is  a  difference  of  circumstances,  education,  and  temptation. 
I  have  sentenced  men  to  prison,  feeling  that  under  the  same 
circumstances  I  might  have  committed  the  very  crime  for 
which  I  was  sentencing  another ;  and  in  many  cases  of  a 
first  offence  I  have  known  that  it  would  be  better  for  the 
prisoner  and  the  community  if  I  could  repeat  the  old  '  Go 
and  sin  no  more.'  A  little  personal  experience  of  mag- 
nanimity would  be  the  making  of  many  an  unfortunate 
fellow.  But  a  judge  has  no  freedom  of  choice." 

Katharine's  face  lighted  as  she  listened,  and  then  she 
exclaimed :  "  I  rest  secure  now  on  a  firm  judicial  back- 
ground. I  have  looked  upon  my  own  conclusions  as  an 
Englishman  regards  the  statements  of  an  Irishman,  —  with 
a  wide  margin  for  enthusiasm." 

"  Enthusiasm  creates  the  forces  that  move  the  world," 
returned  the  judge. 


CHAPTER   LIV. 

IN  PORT. 

"  No  sorrow  upon  the  landscape  weighs, 
No  grief  for  the  vanished  summer  days ; 
O'er  all  is  thrown  a  memorial  hue, 
A  glory  ideal  the  real  never  knew ; 
For  memory  sifts  from  the  past  its  pain, 
And  suffers  its  beauty  alone  to  remain." 

JHE  month  of  October,  1874,  opened  with  a  de- 
licious after-glow  of  summer.  For  days  the 
gently  heaving  breast  of  Lake  Michigan  shim- 
mered with  opaline  tints  most  delicate  and 
evanescent,  and  the  earth  lay  enfolded  in  the  golden  atmos- 
phere, wrapped  in  repose  after  the  fruition  of  the  year. 

To  Katharine  this  benison  of  Nature  seemed  a  reflection 
from  the  deep  peace  of  her  own  heart.  The  light  of  her 
husband's  ever-nearing  return  had  shone  more  and  more, 
until  she  entered  upon  the  perfect  day,  —  the  day  antici- 
pated through  all  the  years  of  separation.  The  library  was 
the  room  that  Katharine  loved  best  in  her  home,  and  it  was 
there  that  the  family  reunion  was  to  be  celebrated  after 
Robert's  arrival. 

Nothing  seemed  precious  enough  to  be  used  at  this  fes- 
tival. Among  Mrs.  Kennard's  treasures  were  a  few  pieces 
of  rare  old  porcelain  inherited  from  some  New  Orleans 


IN  PORT.  349 

ancestor ;  and  the  mother  smiled  as  the  vandal  hands  of 
her  daughter  removed  these  priceless  and  fragile  possessions 
from  the  cabinet  where  they  had  securely  reposed  for  thirty 
years  or  more. 

"  They  must  be  used  to-night,  if  never  again.  I  'm  sure 
Grandmamma  Benton  would  approve ;  that  young  and 
lovely  grandmother  who  always  smiles  on  me  out  of  her 
picture,  would  never  have  the  heart  to  refuse,"  Katharine 
had  said  to  her  mother  as  she  placed  the  dainty  cups  and 
saucers  upon  the  shining  damask  that  awaited  them. 

But  now  it  is  evening,  and  Katharine  is  standing  alone  in 
the  library,  giving  a  last  glance  to  see  that  everything  is  to 
her  mind.  Yes,  it  is  all  perfect;  the  masses  of  Virginia 
creeper  beside  the  fireplace  are  gorgeous  in  their  October 
crimson  and  gold,  the  tea-roses  on  the  table  seem  pulsating 
with  tenderness  beside  the  quaint  and  foreign  porcelain. 
As  of  old,  the  gentle  Madonnas  look  down  from  the  walls. 
Yes,  all  is  in  readiness.  In  the  hall  Katharine  paused  be- 
fore the  mirror  to  arrange  the  folds  of  her  white  burnoose. 
How  vividly  her  whole  life  seemed  to  be  of  the  present ! 
Even  the  mirror  reflected  the  image  of  the  Katharine  of 
long  ago  as  she  stood  ready  for  her  first  ball  on  that  event- 
ful night  when  she  and  Robert  met ;  and  yet  again  Kath- 
arine, an  untroubled  girl  with  a  cluster  of  starry  narcissus 
against  her  blue  dress,  that  last  evening  when  Robert  was 
with  her.  And  to-night  she  is  in  blue  again.  The  tide  of 
youth  was  flowing  back  into  her  life ;  but  the  depth  of  feel- 
ing in  the  eyes  of  Katharine  the  woman  would  have  been 
unfathomable  to  the  light-hearted  girl. 

There  was  no  chill  in  the  air  as  she  went  out  on  the 
piazza ;  only  with  the  lake  could  she  share  that  quiet  hour 
before  her  husband's  return.  The  belated  moon  appeared, 
with  grotesque,  one-sided  face,  and  scattered  its  magical 
light  across  the  waters.  But  it  was  not  upon  her  own 


35O  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

surroundings  that  Katharine's  thoughts  were  bent.  Before 
entering  upon  her  future  with  its  promise  of  happiness,  she 
felt  impelled  to  look  back  upon  the  chapter  of  her  life  which 
was  closing,  to  retrace  the  dark  line  of  prison  life  which  had 
become  inwoven  with  her  existence.  It  was  no  outside 
thing  with  her,  it  was  a  part  of  her  own  life ;  a  part  of  her 
future  also.  Not  in  compassion  only,  but  in  earnest  con- 
templation of  its  results,  she  reviewed  the  past  eight  years. 

How  hard  life  had  seemed  to  her  at  times,  how  un- 
utterably hard  !  And  yet,  now  that  the  ordeal  was  passed, 
she  realized  how,  through  it  all,  she  had  been  shielded  by 
tenderest  affection ;  never  for  one  moment  had  she  been 
unloved,  unremembered.  What  she  had  wished  to  do  for 
others  she  had  been  able  to  do ;  nothing  had  hindered  her 
in  carrying  out  her  generous  impulses.  Comfort  and  help 
had  come  to  her  from  countless  unexpected  sources.  How 
easy  her  way  had  been,  compared  with  that  of  other  prison- 
ers' wives  she  had  known.  Robert  had  indeed  been  the 
centre  of  her  devotion  to  the  prison ;  but  in  what  she  had 
been  to  others,  when  once  her  life  had  turned  in  that  di- 
rection, all  the  forces  in  her  nature  had  carried  her  on  and 
made  it  easier  for  her  to  do  what  she  had  done  than  to 
have  turned  aside. 

And  now  she  tried  to  ask  herself,  Had  she  been  faithful  ? 
But  that  question  found  no  answer ;  it  was  drifted  away  by 
the  procession  that  swept  through  her  memory.  Again  she 
saw  Mrs.  Jessup,  with  her  violet  eyes  full  of  gratitude  and 
affection,  and  the  prisoners'  wives  and  mothers  whom  she 
had  comforted  and  relieved ;  the  little  children  whose  needs 
she  had  not  forgotten,  they  all  came  back  to  her  now,  —  a 
gathering  of  friends  to  wish  her  joy  on  the  eve  of  her 
wedded  happiness.  At  the  remembrance  of  their  grati- 
tude and  affection  her  eyes  filled  with  tears ;  they  might 
answer  the  question,  Had  she  been  faithful  ?  but  she  never 


IN  PORT.  351 

could  answer  it.  Her  thoughts  turned  from  them  only  to 
encounter  Alexander  Hoyne,  ex-Ray  Bloomer,  and  others 
beside  him,  now  honest,  self-respecting  men,  who  once 
were  friendless  prisoners. 

And  for  those  who  had  disappointed  themselves  and  her, 
who  had  failed  and  fallen,  and  gone  out  of  her  knowledge, 
she  had  for  them  only  regret  and  compassion,  and  the  wish 
that  they  might  know  how  gladly  she  would  again  believe 
in  them. 

It  seemed  a  strange  thing  to  Katharine  that  she  had 
known  not  one  prisoner  without  redeeming  qualities.  Faces 
she  had  seen  so  marked  with  vice  and  depravity  that  with 
instinctive  aversion  she  turned  from  them.  She  did  not 
think  about  them,  nor  judge  them,  feeling  only  that  their 
lives  were  manifestations  of  human  nature  beyond  her 
power  of  interpretation,  the  fateful  influences  that  had 
made  them  what  they  were  having  their  roots  in  impen- 
etrable darkness. 

But  never  a  history  had  she  retraced  without  finding  in 
preceding  circumstances  or  condition  extenuation  or  ex- 
planation of  the  crime,  —  either  environment,  ignorance, 
want,  or  temptation  so  overwhelming  as  to  be  practically 
irresistible.  Weakness  or  sin  had  betrayed  these  men  to 
their  destruction  ;  but  among  the  ruins  of  character  she  had 
found  moral  qualities  with  which  character  might  be 
rebuilt. 

Dark  as  were  the  annals  of  individual  crime,  was  not  the 
history  of  cruelties  inflicted  upon  prisoners,  even  in  her  own 
enlightened  nineteenth  century,  a  thousand-fold  darker  ?  The 
blackest  pages  of  the  world's  history  were  inscribed  within  its 
prisons.  What  an  appeal  to  the  sympathy  of  the  world  was 
held  in  the  simple  facts  of  the  classic  story  of  the  imprison- 
ment of  the  noble  Silvio  Pellico  and  his  friends  !  In  what 
sublime  beauty  were  their  faith  and  fortitude  illumined  for 


352  HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 

all  time  !  They  were  cultivated  Christian  gentlemen,  the 
flower  of  Italian  society ;  and  yet  Katharine  recalled  in  men 
neither  cultivated  nor  elevated  by  Christian  faith,  fallen 
and  suffering  men  among  her  prison  friends,  the  same 
qualities  of  heroism  and  endurance ;  and,  like  those  beau- 
tiful Italian  characters,  what  deep  and  comprehending 
sympathy  some  of  them  had  shown  for  others. 

In  looking  back  to-night,  the  saddest  and  most  harrow- 
ing of  the  scenes  and  histories  familiar  to  her  were  trans- 
figured. Something  more  abiding  than  their  sadness  shone 
through  them. 

Hard  as  life  had  been  to  Richard  Williams,  distorted  by 
sin  and  suffering,  even  he  had  gathered  earth's  most  pre- 
cious gift,  —  the  perfect  flower  of  human  love,  —  and  held 
it  with  so  firm  a  clasp  that  it  was  his  in  death. 

And  poor  Otto  Hermann,  gentle,  affectionate,  ill,  with 
his  mind  always  a  little  clouded,  who  by  some  divinely 
given  grace  of  resignation  had  turned  the  keen  edge  of  pain 
and  sorrow  :  had  he  not  at  last  "  fallen  asleep  "  unresisting 
and  confiding  as  in  life  ? 

And  Bruce  Downing,  with  his  soul  lifted  up  from  the 
depths  of  sin  and  misery  into  the  calm  upper  regions  of 
eternal  light,  into  the  Life  above  all  life  :  how  complete  had 
been  his  victory  over  the  evils  of  this  world  ! 

It  was  a  living  voice  of  the  present  that  broke  in  upon 
these  thoughts  of  the  past  as  the  hall-door  opened  and  a 
young  girl  came  out,  —  a  dark-haired,  graceful  girl. 

"  I  Ve  brought  you  a  shawl,  Aunt  Katharine,  and  I  see 
you  don't  need  it ;  but  let  me  throw  it  over  the  back  of  your 
chair.  I  want  to  make  a  picture  of  you,"  said  Dorette,  look- 
ing down  on  Mrs.  Allston  with  a  fondly  critical  glance. 

"  I  never  encourage  nonsense  like  that ;  you  can  make 
pictures  of  mamma  to  your  heart's  content,  but  not  of 
me." 


IN  PORT. 


353 


"  If  there  's  nothing  I  can  do  for  you,  then  farewell," 
said  the  young  girl,  lightly  kissing  Katharine.  "Tears!" 
she  exclaimed,  "  tears  to-night !  why  Aunt  Katharine  !  " 

"  Oh  !  never  mind  the  tears  ;  they  are  for  other  people's 
troubles." 

"You  don't  let  other  people  have  troubles,"  Dorette  re- 
plied with  decision.  "  Oh,  where  should  I  have  been  if 
you  had  not  come  to  me,  dear  Auntie  Katharine  !  "  and 
there  was  a  world  of  ardent  devotion  in  her  voice. 

"  And  what  should  we  have  done  without  you  all  these 
years.  And  how  could  I  leave  mamma  if  Dorette  were  not 
here  to  care  for  her?  We  needed  each  other,  dear." 

"  It 's  lovely  of  you  to  feel  so,"  answered  Dorette,  press- 
ing the  hand  she  held  in  hers ;  then  she  turned  to  re-enter 
the  house. 

Katharine's  broken  revery  was  not  resumed.  Thought 
gave  place  to  feeling  as  she  leaned  back  and  looked  away 
over  the  lake  and  away  into  her  own  idealized  future.  But 
as  she  hears  the  mellow,  distant  cathedral  chime  of  the 
clock  in  the  library  as  it  numbers  the  last  hour  of  separa- 
tion, her  whole  being  is  thrilled,  — 

"As  when  a  harp-string  trembles  at  a  touch, 
And  music  runs  through  all  its  quivering  length." 

Vanished  are  prison  and  prisoners ;  the  pent-up  longing 
has  its  way.  All  consciousness  is  merged  in  glad  antici- 
pation as  she  yields  herself  to  this  delicious  sense  of  rap- 
ture. Her  own  sorrows  and  the  sorrows  of  the  world  are 
alike  forgotten  as  love  circles  her  universe.  ' 

The  winged  moments  take  their  flight;  a  carriage  ap- 
proaches and  stops. 

The  air  is  fragrant  with  the  mignonette  tjiat  borders  the 
walk ;  the  old  stone  house  with  its  heavy  drapery  of  vines 
stands  out  clear-cut  and  silvered  in  the  moonlight;  and 

23 


354 


HIS  BROKEN  SWORD. 


Robert  Allston  finds  his  wife  awaiting  him  in  the  very  place 
where  years  ago  he  said  good-night  "to  such  a  host  of 
peerless  things." 

He  has  come  back  to  her  a  gray-haired  man.  And  what 
a  crowd  of  memories,  bitter  and  sweet,  throng  into  his  heart 
as  he  clasps  his  wife  in  his  arms  !  The  past  nine  years 
were  fused  in  that  one  moment. 

"We  need  not  go  in  just  now,"  said  Katharine,  divining 
his  agitation.  "  Father  and  mother  have  gone  out  for  a 
little  while.  Mamma  says  that  when  Adam  and  Eve  first 
found  each  other  in  paradise  there  were  no  superfluous 
people  looking  on,  and  that  you  and  I  ought  to  have  the 
same  privilege  of  seclusion." 

"  It  all  seems  like  a  dream,"  said  Robert  a  little  later ; 
"  I  am  bewildered  by  the  unaccustomed  sense  of  freedom 
and  the  delicious  evening  air.  The  lake  and  the  moon- 
light seem  strangely  familiar,  and  yet  unreal ;  but  you, 
Katie  darling,  you  are  so  very  real  that  I  almost  think  you 
have  never  been  away  from  me  ;  "  and  he  held  her  closer 
as  the  sweet  sense  of  possession  deepened. 

"  I  never  have  been  away  from  you.  I  could  not  have 
lived  apart  from  you,"  Katharine  answered. 

It  was  in  that  hour  of  reunion  with  his  wife  that  Robert 
Allston  felt  the  burden  of  the  past  fall  away  as  the  living, 
remorseful  reality  of  his  crime  faded  into  a  memory  and 
a  regret. 

That  kindly  lover  of  humanity,  William  Makepeace 
Thackeray,  has  said :  "  Lucky  is  he  who  can  meet  failure 
so  generously,  and  give  up  his  broken  sword  to  Fate  the 
Conqueror  with  a  manly  and  humble  heart." 

THE   END. 


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